The suit was heat, soaked from head to toe, but could not remove it. It was part of his costume work in the Brasserie "Mr. Chicken." Its function was to represent certain Mr Chicken, with a costume that included feathers and beak.
Located in the heart, its presence was almost a classic since the place had opened six months ago. From mid-morning until after noon, walked within a radius of five blocks, handing out leaflets on trade, with a nice logo on the top.
had to endure all kinds of jokes that eventually learned to tolerate. But there was a boy who had no mercy with him. During the summer months, his absence had been a relief. With the return of the classes, the ordeal had come to start.
The boy not only yelling things, but had a habit of throwing against his figure, dashing from one side or from behind, taking him by surprise. With the excuse "oh, I did not see" would run, while laughing heartily, like his classmates, who accompanied him on the "funny" adventure.
For more to put out the front of the premises at the time that I knew, out of school, children looking for him. More than once he nearly hit him, but was contained at the last minute. Nor could insult or throw anything that came handy. For more than he wished, he could not. Surely it would throw the job and needed more than ever.
had been lucky to give it six months ago when he was fired from her administrative job at a major employer in the city. Of course it was a pleasure to fulfill that role, but it assured him the money to support his family.
trying to think of that when he succeeded these unpleasant facts. Especially with the child, who directed him not a word, or even reprimanded. I could not. He came home
ground, tired from walking and even more, morally destroyed by those jokes that he spent and the attitudes of the child. But when you get home, everything magically disappeared.
His wife received a big hug and a kiss on the mouth, he asked with interest, if she had done well in the office, unaware that he had thrown half a year before and told him he already had prepared the dinner.
then breaks down the stairs, got to go around the waist with a hug, his son, who filled her with kisses. That boy was so beautiful that it was the same as every afternoon after school to hit him and told him to humiliate him completely outrageous. How cruel was fate! But she loved him. And yet, he could not say anything. Because then the image of the quiet that hung over the home would collapse in the same way you did it, dressed in that suit hot and ridiculous, every afternoon after being hit by his own son.
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