On deck, fantasizing about the perfectly fried thigh soon to hit my lips, I notice the lady behind the register laughing her ass off. A squeamish high school kid stares at the floor, sheepish like someone just caught him in in the bathroom with a playboy. “Your cologne smells FANTASTIC!” she bellows and then she looks at me. “isn’t his cologne nice?” she asks? I reply that I can only smell chicken, and yes, the chicken smells very nice. She laughs harder. The other gentleman behind the register gestures for me to have a listen. “he’s high off his ass,” he whispers to me. “She loves to make fun of faded highschool kids.”