by gansie
“What are you watching?” my sister asked as I painted my nails sitting on the carpet of my parents’ living room floor.
“Stay,” I said, “Mom saved the Oprah with Michael Pollan. He’s the dude who wrote the book that I’m making dad read.”
And that’s all it took.
My sister watched in horror as chickens, so burdened, so physically burdened, with the weight of their unnaturally large breasts, that they could only crank out a few steps before collapsing. She stopped eating meat after that. It’s been just over a month now. And she has no idea what to eat.
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