for love when hungry and puff their chests and hiss like lonely men in taverns if pigeons flew near. Until three days ago, until she showed up, rising with the dawn, Earl had forgotten about the roosters. But now, for the three mornings she’d emerged on the roof to feed them, the birds and the vision of the girl consumed Earl Atlas. She wore a white gown that she didn’t close. The white looked dull compared to her pristine skin. It reminded Earl of watching dogs with white coats run in the snow. She would bend to feed the birds and her breasts would sway like pendulums. He couldn’t make out the details which were important to boys his age, like the cup size of those breasts or their shape and firmness, but none of that mattered. After she finished, the girl stood there facing Earl’s house with her legs slightly parted, her robe open. With rays of morning shooting through her she would pull two of the roosters from their cages, hold them by their legs, and flap them as if she were trying to use them for wings. A haze of feathers would float around her, passing through the rays her body emitted.
His name was Señor Faustino, but he was known as the Chicken Man or El Taxeo to the neighborhood.