Wings

There's an eating place across the highway from my office.  I can look out my window (yes, it took me 12 years to move up to a window view.  I got by for 5 of those years with a nice view of Gennie Bloxham but that can't carry a guy forever) and see the parking lot of that eating place.  I can see that it's pretty busy most of its working day so I know it's popular with someone.
  It's a wing place.  They sell chicken wings.  They sell only chicken wings.  I think, are you kidding me?  That's all they sell, wings?  I'm sure they save a fortune on menus.  But why would you eat there.  To me, the wing is the most boring chunk of the chicken.  Hell the're not even real wings.  Chickens can't really fly, they just run around with the things spread out like they've seen crows do but they never really get far off the ground.  They flutter.  They run and stretch their 'wings' and flutter up about a foot or two and act like they're all birdlike or something.  They think they're wingin it but they're really not.  Dang bird brains.
   Yea, yea, I know that there's folks out there who like barbecued wings and hot wings and buffalo wings - whatever that means.  But really, a fast food franchise based solely on selling wings?  I never woulda thought it would fly.  Sure I could eat wings.  But that only primes my gut for the rest of the fowl.  Eating wings is sorta like eating crabs.  You rip and tear and search and usually get crap but every now and then you get a nice little morsel only to go back to wretched ravaged carcass with nothing more on it so that you can dig around for nothing else.  You can't really get something to eat off a itty bitty wing.  Now give me a good old breast or thigh.  Gimme some nice crispy chicken drumsticks.  Yea, that's eatin chicken.  Wings?  It's like cheap appetizers with too much work. 
     So they're probably making a killing killing chickens for the wings and selling them to people who are really wishing they were tailgating instead of lunching on the typical workday.  If they can do it then I can do it too.  If they're selling all those wings then somewhere out there is a bunch of dead chickens with no wings and too much legs and breasts and thighs. 
     That's where I can come in.  I can buy up all those breasts and start my own place.  Sell only breasts.  I can make a huge sign.  It'll say BREASTS.  The place will fill up the first day with lonely guys (and some free thinking girls).  Before the guys of the neighborhood figure out it's just a bunch of chicken parts I can sell it to some numbers oriented accountant and he can suffer instead of me, when all the breast hungry dudes go back to Hooters. 
     Once that's over with I can start a new place called LEGS. 
My retirement may not be so bad after all.