When I got to Mom's digs, she wasn't there. I could tell right away. The Harley was missing from the living room. Mom had one hell of a time ridding that thing up a flight of stairs, but at least here it was eiser than the old 4th floor ride up.

I decided to take a break, after riding around in that stupid Montana with cowboys jumping in from trains and all that crap, I was pooped. I figgured I'd just grab a Duff's and crap out on the couch for a bit.

I open the door to the 'fridge, and what do I see? Three cans of Duff's, half a Pizza, half gallon of milk, dated Feb. 1988 (don't want that), and a box of fried chicken.

Hmm, Duff's & the chicken, finger lick'n good. So I grabs the chicken & a couple of beers and head for the living room. I kick my shoes off and pop a top on Duff's number one. Take a big drink, then open up the box of chicken.

"Holy Sheep Shit!" This ain't chicken in this box! It's..;.