Chicken Slippers
I was in a rush. I had 30 minutes to get groceries on my lunch break so that I wouldn’t have to stop after work. I strategically bobbed and weaved through the holiday aisles stuffed with seasonal nonsense, organized in a fashion I can only describe as a hoarder’s wet dream. I must have swore in my head at everyone in the store at least eleven times before I got hit by an invisible wall. Inertia threw me into the very thing that stopped me like a cold, wide-palmed slap in the face. I stared in disbelief. I couldn’t help but marvel at the treasure before me: chicken slippers.
