Jeff feels himself being picked up up by a pair of latex-gloved hands. He’s lifted into the sky, like a greasy gritty angle, before being placed down into a bucket. The hands return with yet another piece, but a voice splits through the air, the words slurred and confused as though the owner of the voice has just been cracked over the head with a tom and jerry-style mallet.
“A-aah,uhh, just, just - haheheh - just one piece of the f-f-frid-frieded chicken please ma’m.” A skater bro on the other side stinking of weed leans forward to inspect Jeff and he can see up at them, and the nice hands seem to retract for a moment in sheer terror.
“Alright, will that be in a to-go box?”
“Oh uhh, no uh..” You hear a backpack zipper unzip. “That’s ok, you can just put it in here.”
“You don’t want it wrapped or nothin’?”
“Nah that’s. That’s all good.”
“Alrighty then.” Jeff heard her KFC high heels tapping on the tiled floor and suddenly her ample bosom bloomed over the lip of the bucket. “One piece, no to-go box.” Her latex clad hand reached into the bucket, and Jeff felt her fingers close around his greasy body. The coating had a feeling similar to wearing a thick jacket or windbreaker, and it felt like he was being gripped through three layers of duvets.
Suddenly, Jeff was hoisted back into the air, light and noise of the KFC restaurant, and placed unceremoniously on the counter. The black-haired, acned, but strangely attractive skater bro leaned over him from one side, and the broad-bosomed KFC brunette loomed over from the other.
“One, uh, KFC chicken leg, no to go box. That’ll be $12.99 USD.”
“Thanks man,” said the skater bro. He rifled through his open back pack and produced a $10 pound note, a 1 pound coin, a 50 cent piece, a 1 cent piece, and 2 dimes. He placed them on the counter beside Jeff.
“Ok, thank you, enjoy your meal,” said the buxom brunette, taking the notes and coins. The skater bro closed his hands around Jeff, and nestled him carefully in his warm backpack, between a lunchbox, a half-empty water bottle, and a fat, still-warm spliff.
“Catch you later, my thiiiick queen!” The skater smirked, turning on his heel and skating out of the store, kick-flipping onto the road and doing an ollie up onto the nearby railing, grinding down the metal and off onto the main road. He had a looong way to go home with his pet JFC (Jeff FriedChicken) now, and Jeff was becoming infused with some new smells, some new scents that hadn’t ever smelled before. Jeff didn’t know about a dug, but he did know that marijijuana was one that was pretty popular ones. He had been meaning to try it himself, but never got the courage up to buy some. Not that it mattered now, he was on his way to his home.
The skater came to a sudden holt, and Jeff felt his whole world shake. Then, the feeling changed as his bag was taken inside, the spliff rubbing against him, setting off a whole new wave of feeling even through his thick, crispy coating.
Jeff’s nest was distrubed once more, as the bag was placed onto the bed, and he heard the zipping noise of the bag coming open...and then...the chronivac in his room, miles and miles away, seemed to come back on.