I never eat chicken these days. It is nothing more than rubbery meat filled with hormones. I cannot even look at it in the butchers, all those battery birds reared within increasingly shorter time periods to satisfy growing consumer demand. I used to eat chicken though, used to dip chicken wings into succulent sauces, licking chicken juice from my chin and from my fingers. Everything was grand, until one day I looked into the bowl where I had put the wings after I had managed to tear off the flesh from each one with deliberation. I had a tiny string of chicken meat stuck in between my teeth as I was doing my calculations. I had eaten sixteen wings and there were still some left on my plate. I was personally involved in the devouring of eight chickens and I had yet to complete my meal. Something happened in that moment, it was like a perspective shift, a revelation and it was important. I was a grotesque person. And I made up my mind to make that change, I would never eat chicken again, willingly.

Joey will do anything to score himself a chicken fillet roll from the Centra. Nothing can put him off. I have even made him sit through an entire programme on the manufacturing process of these chicken fillets. Basically a chicken fillet of this quality consists of the chicken carcass, a couple of spices and a glue-like substance, all processed into a grotesque paste. It is then shaped into a rubber breast. There is no chicken meat involved. I will allow that it is difficult for a child to really understand this concept.

Joey says that I’m hurting his foot. His tears are waiting in the wings to come out, his stored-up upset gives his eyes a glossiness. I tell him that he should have watched where he was going, I feel mean saying this but that he’s got to learn these basic things. I warn him about being less clunky on his feet. I tell him to study Mikey, who never has accidents. My opinion expressed, the frustration that I feel is more settled now. Joey allows his tears to flow as if in response to the comparisons that I have made about him and his brother. Someone else might be fooled, but not me, I know that the real reason he’s crying is because I am refusing to promise him a chicken fillet roll.

We’re in town and it’s supposed to be a day out and now Joey’s gone and wrecked his foot. I want to tell him that he’s a clumsy fucking fool. The city is full of Spanish and Italian students, being summer, and it seems as if these warm-blooded youths have ensconced themselves in our city for the foreseeable future. There’s nothing bad about this, if anything it lends a little colour.