The chicken
As i was walking down Station Street early one Sunday morning, I saw a chicken
a few yards ahead of me. I was walking faster than the chicken, so I gradually
caught up. By the time we approached Eighteen Avenue, I was close behind. The
chicken turned south on Eighteen. At the fourth house along, it turned in at the
walk, hopped up the front steeps, and rapped sharply on the metal storm door
with its beak. After a moment, the door opened and the chicken went in.
Linda Elegant
Portland, Oregon
Form the book True tales of American life
Edited and introduced by Paul Auster
