I felt like I should take the bus home today instead of waking. Mostly because I thought it could be uncomfortable to walk past the chicken lady again. Would I need to stop and make small talk? Was I invading her space? Better to just avoid it.

The bus is always late. Which, if you think about it, is sort of impossible. To *always* be late? No matter what time you get there? For everybody?

So I waited on the rolling lawn a little ways above the bus stop, where you can see the bus coming from a long ways out. It was a beautiful day, a cool breeze coming out of the woods that butted up against the lawn, summer school kids playing on the grass, like it was a park, like it was exactly the same scene as in the picture the chickens pecked out in the dirt yesterday....

A voice behind me said "Carol?"

It was Ms. Amadria, the translocation teacher. She asked if I could babysit her two kids on Saturday. For $50!

I said yes. And the chicken lady was right about today turning out to be a good one.

I watched the chickens tell the future today. I dropped by the chicken lady's camp and she was waiting for me.

She said "Are you ready to see the chickens tell the future?"

Usually if a stranger asks you if you want to see something you've never seen before, it's a bad idea to go along with it. Whether they're homeless or not. But the chicken lady was camped up the path far enough that she had to be a little psychic at least. Because regular people can't find it. So I already felt like we had an understanding.

I said "Sure."

The chicken lady let the chickens out of the pen, with their little masks on. They were like little luchadores, because they had little holes for their eyes and beaks and they were very brightly colored.

She said "It makes them feel powerful. Like they are channeling the energy of their gods."

I think she was talking about the masks.

She tossed out handfuls of chicken feed on the dirt and said "When the chickens have the right energy they are capable of anything."

We watched the chickens peck for awhile. Furiously. Like a cartoon of a woodchuck chucking wood on turbo. Then they all looked at each other and nodded and ran back to their pen.

The chicken lady waved me to come closer to the dirt where they ate. There, drawn out with fine lines of chicken feed on the ground, was a picture. A pointillist masterpiece. There was shadow and form and human figures in a park near a forest, I think.

Then the chicken lady stomped it out with her feet and said "Looks like it's going to be a good day tomorrow."

That seemed to be the end of the show. I said "Thanks!" and left.

I was walking home from school today and there was a homeless camp on the path. There was a tent and a dead campfire and chickens! Chickens in a pen. The chickens had masks on. Tiny chicken masks. And then the homeless person came out and she said "Hi! Time to feed the chickens."

I asked her "Why do your chickens wear masks?"

And she said "Because they're afraid to tell the future by themselves. Come by tomorrow and you can see them do it."

So I told her I would.