Chickens chickens everywhere and not a one for eating!

I realized the other day that next time I go to the beach I should spend less time reading and more time watching the people around me. What a show!
There's the man sitting crosslegged on the sand, his grey, wasit-length beard and lack of facial expression making him look like a leftover hippie or wannabe yogi. Except that the heavyset woman right next to him is wearing a dorky visor, a stylish swimsuit, and is reading a book. Quintessential odd couple.
There's the haole local, his arms covered in tattoos and his bleached hair pulled back into a ponytail. He's gliding his surfboard expertly past the tourists who are struggling to stay on their feet in the knee-high water as they attempt to board their boards. They stop their splashing long enough to enviously watch him go by. Haole boy looks proud of him self. You can almost see him puff his chest out.
There's the woman whose face places her in the 50-60 year old range. But what is a 60 year old woman doing with a tiny string bikini on? Perhaps she was a Vegas show girl and struggles to let go of the fact that her body is no longer appealing? Hasn't been for about 20 years. Her body is shining with enough oil to cover everyone on the beach and still have enough left over to make french fries. She's got her arms, legs, and fingers splayed to make sure every ancient skin cell catches as much toxic UV rays as possible. Her tanned skin is wrinkled and leathery and I'm mesmerized. I wonder, if I watch long enough, will she shrivel up like plastic fork in a campfire?
Not far from her is the man with the rotund paunch and the plastic coconut bra. He may have an odd sense of fashion, but the entire hour plus that I'm there, he's in the water splashing and laughing and playing with his kids. There's something to be said for that.

***

I'm sitting in the parking lot of the public library finishing my fries and watching a wild rooster and hen get closer to the car. I wonder briefly if chickens can smell and search the beak for anything resembling a nostril.
The rooster gives me a cold look and puts me in mind of another rooster. Two years ago my mom, me and Sidnee were parked at an overlook watching the waves. Sidnee is throwing food at the ever-present chickens, but she soon tires of it and closes the door. Suddenly, we all hear a loud thump on the windows and turn in time to see the rooster attacking the car, furious that we'd ceased to feed him. Maybe Hawaii should spring for some "Warning: Attacking Chickens" signs or at least some saying "Please don't feed the wildlife".
The chickens at the library are getting ominously closer and I debate whether or not I should roll up the window, just in case they CAN smell and happen to be a fan of greasy, sugary McDonald's french fries.
Maybe they've heard I live in the cock fighting capital of the island and will rise up against me in a show of Chicken Solidarity. Here's for our fallen comrades!
I sit in the car until I'm sure they're gone, then make a mad dash for the library doors. You can never be too careful...