Bromford and Chicken …

»Disgusting«, the animal says.

I am dancing around the kitchen counter listening to a band called Brussels Sprouts or something like that on my in-ear headphones.

»Hop-Frog, Dancing Dog, Albuquerque.«

The llama is frowning at me.

»And butchering lyrics, aren't you, dude?«

I take the plug out of one ear.

»What did you say, animal?«

The animal is taking its used mug to the sink.

»You are disgusting, human. A real meat-eating predator.«

»Hot-Spot, Frumpy Log, Albuquerque.«

»I don't know what you are talking about, animal.«

The llama's mug clatters into the sink.

»Chicken wings, dude! I am talking about chicken wings. How dare you take a picture with the animal and the consumable product at the same time?«

»Hmm«, I am wondering aloud, »Which came first: the chicken or the wing?«

»If you are only searching for a new animal companion to eat it, I am glad you are searching for a new animal companion.«

And in a frumpy fury - where do all these words come from? - the animal is leaving the kitchen of the penthouse above the fifteenth floor of the apartment building on 666, Whitaker Lane, in Bromford the friendly town by the bay and seaside.

»It is for a change«, I am calling to the llama, »it is just for the change, animal!«

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Today is Wednesday, the 10th of April 2024.