there’s a hungry man waiting under the chicken-on-the-way sign. he’s got his eye on a 5-piece snack box, fries and coleslaw combo. there’s nothing finer than a hot greasy chicken on a summer day.
there’s a hungry man waiting under the chicken-on-the-way sign. he’s got his eye on a 5-piece, nothing finer than a box of hot summer day. no monies. they’ve dried up like the mud on the riverbank, embedded with debris from the flood.
there’s a hungry man waiting under the chicken-on-the-way sign. he’s got his eye. nothing finer. summer day. no monies. dried up like mud. the riverbank, his home, washed away. debris marks his former resting place, a concrete bunker under the 14th street bridge. he watched the river. he got out of there but left his bottles.
there’s a hungry man waiting. he’s got his eye. washed away. debris marks his former bunker. the river rising, rising, rising.