"What 'chu think, ma? Breast or thigh?"
The old woman sucked her teeth and stirred the pot of creamed corn on the stove. "I don' know, pa! Whichever's the freshest!"
The old man grunted and lifted his keys from the singing fish key hook. He left the house through the kitched door and made his way next door to the woodshed whistling an eerie tune.
Inside, he flipped the lightswitch. The bulb flickered to life with some difficulty. The old man grunted again in approval and strode across the room to the freezer.
He inserted a key into the padlock on the handle and turned. The lock unhinged silently. The old man lifed the freezer lid and peered into it. After a few moments, he selected a length of meat wrapped in saran-wrap about as long as his forearm and twice as wide. He sniffed it, shrugged his shoulders, and closed the freezer before heading back to his house.
"I got a purdy good sized thigh here, ma!" the old man yelled as he shut the kitchen door behind him.
The old woman went over to inspect the meat with her bony fingers. "It'll do," she confirmed as she took it from his hands. "Damn tourists... at least they're good for somethin', right, pa?"
The old man laughed and looked longingly to where his shotgun stood propped in the corner. "Sure are, ma... Suuuuuure are..."
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