Chet Bollinger was a big man and so over the years the seat in his old Chevy half ton developed a deep indentation  in the shape of his butt. The cab of the truck smelled like hamburgers and old spilled coffee. This odor did not cover the one that clung to the bed of the truck.
Years of hauling crates full of live chickens, with only rare cleaning of the droppings, created the eternal smell. It was, in fact, a vehicle only Chet Bollinger could stand to ride in.
With crates full of fat white hens Chet made the two hour trip to Black Stone Est. where he planned on selling the birds. The folks there had plenty of money and Chet planned on lining his pockets with a large amount of it.
Stopping in front of a random house Chet stopped the old truck that rattled and belched as it began it’s long routine of turning off. A final pop and bang sent a cloud of black smoke that surrounded Chet as he lowered the tailgate. He grabbed a large oak stump and set it on the edge of the well kept lawn. Next he grabbed an axe and a crate of three hens that fussed and fluttered sending dirty white feathers in the air. “ Time to pay for your room and board girls.”

  Chet opened the crate and grabbed the first of the three doomed chickens. Holding the frightened bird by it’s feet Chet expertly chopped the head away. To keep the lifeless bird from running around headless Bollinger chopped the feet from the legs and grabbed the next bird. A man ran from the front door of the home at #18 Black Rock Est. waving his arms and screaming at Chet.
Still holding the flailing bird Chet turned slowly toward the man. Knowing his bulk intimidated most men Chet laid the hens head and neck on the killing stump and over the man’s loud protests severed the head and feet of the second chicken.

  “What the hell are you doing man?”

  “ You don’t look like a retard. What the hell you think I’m doing?” The man’s wife and two children stood on the porch watching the strange sight. “ I’m here working my ass off to supply you with fresh chicken and you bring your scrawny ass out to waste my time.”

  “ Listen, I don’t know who the hell you are or why you would think I want these...these chickens…?”
Go back in ‘til I’m done. I’ll bring the birds up after I clean up the feathers and innards. Go on..”
“ Listen, I’m going in to call the cops. Be a good time for you to pack up and go” The man looked at the chicken “ farmers dirty hands and then up to his mean grin.”“ That would be a BIG mistake mister. You can call the cops or you can go inside and wait for your birds. Six suit ya?”
Other than a pocketful of money and no chickens in the crate the ride back to Mudd Creek was uneventful. Sixteen houses and sixteen sales. You still have the touch Chet ol’ boy.