The people of Chinatown must get their meat early. Most of the carcasses hanging in the window had been trimmed into obscurity. Aside from the fowl, I could make out a ribcage or two. Possibly the hips of a rump roast. Yellow and orange, a squid dangled in the corner, its limp tentacles, punctured mantle, and dead little eyes looking more like a trophy of intergalactic war than dinner.
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