Lola and I had gotten up extra early that Saturday and gone to the Farmer’s Market. We’d bought some fruit and some honey, enjoyed the people watching and the dog watching. We’d even stopped at Starbucks on the way home for a coffee and a cocoa. As we were approaching the light just before we turned toward home, I noticed a young man running on the sidewalk. He had the head-down, fists pumping, very serious look of a man deep into his workout groove. Then, about fifty yards behind that guy, came the chicken:
What was perhaps the most charming thing about this chicken-man was that he was not advertising anything. There were no logos affixed to him. He carried no sign saying, “Eat at Nugget Hut.” And he wasn’t there to entertain anyone. This was no goofy guy who woke up and thought, ‘Hey, I’m gonna dress up like a chicken today. You know, for the kids.’ This chicken-man didn’t wave back at Lola and me when we pulled off the road to snap the picture and gesticulate wildly at him. He just kept running. Head down, arms pumping. Just a dead serious chicken-man getting in a morning run.