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57 Brian Clements Vetting the Chickens You might say the siesta is to blame for our doubt. For days we had nothing but steam, unless you count the breakfasts of cactus. Then out of nowhere a massive celebration for independence. We were to each other as haremed youths to sheiks. We went on for days on coco-rojo and oysters until we collapsed onbenches in the square. When we woke thenextmorning, wewere surrounded by chickens. We didn't know these chickens. What should we believe? If only we'd had the strength to stay awake one more night, we might have inquired as to their purpose and to what deed and what benefactor we owed such deserts. ...


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