Fried Chicken

At dusk, the gang of five year olds at the corner were eating fried chicken in their wooden chairs on the sidewalk, chucking the bones into the street. I kicked the bones down the storm drain so Lily wouldn't eat them. Now I am obsessed with the idea of making my own fried chicken. We'll eat it on the back stoop, and chuck the bones into a bucket out of Lily's reach.