Chicken Fingers

THE DWARF IN THE TWEED VEST furrowed his brow as he reached his hands into his pockets. He pulled them out again only to produce… nothing at all. He shrugged his shoulders and looked at me, his watery gray eyes uncomfortably feeling. It took me a second, but I caught on that this was supposed to be a demonstration.

“Hey pal you owe me,” he said, so I took my wallet out of my back pocket and opened the brown leather mouth with both of my thumbs. I couldn’t remember what I owed him for, but if he said I owed him it was probably true. He looked like an honest guy. At least, his beard was full enough.

Inside my wallet there was a one dollar bill, a five dollar bill, and two chicken fingers. As this was out of the ordinary, I took the chicken fingers out of my wallet to examine them more closely. They were chunky and cold to the touch; little bits of frost had accumulated in the chinks between the breading.

The dwarf looked at me. I looked at the dwarf. He opened his mouth as if to speak. I crammed both chicken fingers into my mouth and started chewing. Crunch. Crunch. They didn’t taste very good. I was just being greedy. I don't know why.

“Hey,” the dwarf said. “I was going to eat those. Also, why aren’t you wearing pants?” I looked down. It was true, I wasn’t wearing pants. I don’t remember when this happened. When I looked up again, the dwarf was gone.