DEEP-FRIED
Bruce slipped the smart phone into his back pocket, his mouth already watering. It had been so long since he’d last called Kentucky Fried Chicken- so long in fact, that he didn’t even know they’d shortened the name of the restaurant. No matter. He was hungry, and looked forward to his meal.
The smart phone in his pocket rang, causing Bruce to jump in surprise. He answered it warily. When he realized it was just the delivery person calling to clarify the directions, he relaxed. He still worried that someone who knew the actual owner of the phone would be calling soon and finding out Bruce had taken the phone just hours earlier.
Bruce went over the directions again with the delivery person. Bruce loved the fact that he lived rent-free within the Mammoth Caves system, but it made for a headache when it came to giving people directions, especially since he never really knew where he would be on any given day. In terms of the geographical markers above ground, that is. Bruce knew the interior of the caves rather well, having spent several years living in them, constantly on the move to avoid chance encounters with spelunkers, park rangers, tourists and trespassers. Usually, there was little effort required to stay out of sight, but over the years there had been an unpleasant surprise or two. He’d been able to prevent discovery to the public and more importantly, public authorities, though.
Bruce lived off the land (and the occasional wallet or phone liberated from a tourist) for the most part, but every once in a while, Bruce would get a craving for something more urban than gophers or beetles with a side of wild lettuce. When he got that craving, he wanted something that would remind him of his upbringing in the city, before he decided to go and live independently from his family and the world. Civilization moved at a pace that bewildered Bruce, and he often could not understand the priorities that people created for themselves these days. Really, all he needed was a place to sleep, a place to defecate, and food.
Bruce began to make his way through the wooded border of the road where he planned to meet the delivery person. He dug deep into his memory for the smell of the chicken that came in these buckets his family used to eat out of when he was younger. His stomach began to rumble, but Bruce kept on moving. If there was one thing he’d learned from all his years living in the caves, it was patience. He stopped only once to answer the phone again. The delivery person once again asking for directions. Bruce repeated the directions, spelling out street names even.
Roughly half an hour later (Bruce wore no watch and it didn’t occur to him to check the clock on the phone, he was so unused to the technology) the driver pulled up in his car. The driver grunted and groaned as he maneuvered out of the car. He pulled out a bag containing a bucket of chicken, original recipe, and three sides. The driver wiped his brow as he looked Bruce up and down with barely concealed dislike.
Bruce ignored the scrutiny. He was used to it. He smiled at the driver. “You Bruce?” The driver asked. Bruce wondered who else he could be, since he was the only person at this juncture on a side road within the cave system grounds. However, he nodded in reply.
“Great, okay well that was $18.47,” the driver continued, holding out the bag. Bruce reached into his other pants pocket, the one not containing the phone, and pulled out a knife. The driver had no time to register the blade coming at him until it had already sliced his throat open. Bruce deftly stepped to one side, avoiding the arterial spray, but he flung out his hand to grab the bag before it hit the ground. He might be in the mood for the flesh of a city person, but he could always have the chicken for breakfast.
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