3-16-2015

I'm standing on the porch of a cabin and it's summer. I'm preparing a meal of squirrel meat. I have about 4 or 5 squirrel's tied up upside down waiting to be skinned and filleted. I plan to gut them and roll the meat in flour and corn meal.

Then, after the meat is cooked, a grouchy woman, carrying a plate with a long sandwich, comes up to me and says "This is terrible." I take a fork and poke at it and realize the meat is frozen inside, not thoroughly cooked. I'm not the one who cooked them, and don't know who did.
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