Chicken Woman


So I was walking out of the library with a friend from work today and we’re walking along and talking and I nudge her and say “Did you see that?”

“What?”, she says.

Apparently she didn’t see the woman walking in front of us.

Just from a glance at the back of this woman, you could tell that she was that special kind of crazy that’s really only found in New York. She was dressed very oddly, was carrying many mismatched bags of varrying sizes and had a strange contraption holding her hair up. But to top it off, she was bobbing her head and flapping her arms while bent at the elbow in such a way that the only thought to permeate my brain at this time was: Chicken. She’s the chicken woman.

So I said to my friend, quietly and under my breath on a busy midtown street, “The chicken woman.”

Right at this moment, the chicken woman stops her walking and flapping, turns around and looks me dead in the face with a four and a half toothed smile. She kept her unwavering gaze on me with that creepy ass smile until we had walked fully past her.

As we tried to stifle our snickers, we looked at each other and commented “Well, that was wierd!”

But here is what goes on in my head. I have just this morning finished reading a book based in NYC in which faeries and trolls and goblins live amongst us and disguise themselves as humans. I’m now wondering if she was a member of the lesser known Chicken Folk and she has super sonar bat hearing and she was just so happy to have been recognized in her true form that she couldn’t help but turn and smile.

And now I have to wonder who the crazy one really is: her or me?

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