I know this guy. I wish I didn’t. But I do.
“It’s a dying art you know.”
Leopold says this to me as I am chopping up the chicken for the lions. I just grunt. I don’t see anything artistic about chopping up one hundred and fifty pounds of chicken for three giant cats that always look at me like they are wondering what I taste like. It’s about a million degrees and I am sweating like a whore in church sitting on the first pew. Leopold walks around the table to start loading the chicken into five gallon buckets. He is the only one that feeds the lions. When he is performing he wears this anachronistic safari outfit and a pith helmet . Today is his day off so he is wearing a Kent State t-shirt and some cut off sweats and flip-flops. His tawny skin stretched tight across his bulky frame. His arms are like great slabs of meat hanging…
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