Redneck Press with Fried Chicken and Coffee

My father, an old slaugh­ter­house man, decided to keep hens on our prop­erty around my twelfth birth­day. The coop was an unbal­anced struc­ture that sat close to the cold white bricks of the slaugh­ter­house and just down from our garage. One night, not long after trad­ing for some chick­ens with a hunter who wanted his […] ↓ Read the rest of this entry…