Arnold Lapkin was a rooster. He had been a chicken all his life. He nevertheless blamed society for his fate.
"Look at me now", said Arnold. "Look now and tell me what you see?"
He stood at the corner of Bloor and Yonge Street, right in the heart of downtown Toronto. He waved his wings and stomped his feet. "Listen! I call you to listen! Hold where you are. I will not take up much of your time. I need only speak to you for a minute, and then you will understand."
Chickens are far smaller than humans and a lot of humans were rushing here and there on the corner, were it not for the fact that Arnold stood high upon a square sign he would have been trampled by the people.
"We must unite against our common foe and liberate all of man and chicken kind! I know of the way. We have been enemies far too long. True, chickens have never done anything to man. True, you kill chickens by the millions just so you can cover them in eleven herbs and spcies. True you treat us like shit! But all that can be forgotten! Utopia can not be built on old grudges!"
Arnold continued his monologue for hours, but no matter how incredible his words were, no matter how much energy he put into what he said, no matter what he did, no one paid attention. This was very odd.
I walked by at this time. I paid no attention.
"Was that a chicken?" I asked someone after about three blocks. "Huh?" they said, and then walked past me. "How odd", I said.