flowery

“Soo. I’m trying to figure out if you’re gayy or not, Chicken Itza. I mean, *I’m* gay. Gray Scale Kimball is gay. Marcus is gay.”

“Marcus is not gay,” corrects Chicken Itza. “He just likes flowers. Primmy flowers.”

“I’ll take your word for that.”

“We can go ask him if you wish. Saw him out back of his gallery when we were jogging by.”

“Hmm,” responded Chesteria A. Arthur, mate of Grey Scale Kimball. “Sometimes I wonder why we jog together, Chicken Itza. Is it just that we’re next to each other alphabetically in a list of new novel 15 characters?”

“Yes,” states Chicken Itza bluntly. “Else I’d still be laying in my own pool of blood back at Bridgeman’s. That and the suit.”

“Ah yes. The *gay* suit,” Chesteria purred. “But sometimes I think you are a straight in gay garb.”

“Humph.” He assumes a less manly pose on the bench with this.

“I’ve run behind you now too many times. Your hips don’t sway the right way–”

“Oh I’m gay,” breaks in Chicken Itza, fearing exposure of his true self could mean expulsion from the community. He needs his scripts! Love scripts.

“Prove it. I mean, you have the suit, yeah. But anyone could climb into that cock-amanie outfit, hah, and declare themselves gay.”

Chicken Itza’s thoughts turned toward Marcus again. “Okay, I have a way. Follow me.”

—–

“Hmm, dee dumm. Dumm dee… dee…” Oh hi guys. Jogging around the community again?”

“Pucker up Marcus,” warns Chicken Itza just in time.

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