“Who the fuck throws a chicken?” Nick groused. “Once again, I did not throw the chicken. I merely released it. I cannot help that it finds your face peckable or that your reflexes are slow and full of panic,” Gabe insisted. Nick spit a feather out of his mouth. “I’m not panicked. You’re panicked.” “Coo coo ca-cha,” the rooster said. “Aren’t roosters supposed to crow?” Riley asked. “Mr. Feathers fell off a truck on the highway. I think he might have a tiny little traumatic brain injury,” Blossom explained.
