Suspicion of poultry!Suspicion of poultry!Verdacht auf Federvieh!
Generations on the Bus – Suspicion of Poultry!
The bus jolted through the city as if it already had a backache.
On the worn-out bench sat a grandpa so old that even his wrinkles had wrinkles. Next to him, a young man with a colorful mohawk, nose ring, and tattoos that looked like a grumpy rainbow settled down.
The grandpa stared at him. Not briefly. Not secretly. But so intensely as if he wanted to catalog him right then and there.
The young man cleared his throat, turned his head, and finally burst out:
“Grandpa, why are you staring at me like that?”
The bus suddenly fell very silent. Even the engine seemed to listen for a moment.
The grandpa blinked, scratched his chin, and said dryly:
“You know, in my youth I once slept with a chicken, and now I’m wondering if you’re my son!”
For a moment, there was absolute silence. Then the young man started laughing. First quietly, then so loudly that the bus driver turned around startled.
“Don’t worry, Grandpa,” he said grinning, “my mother was a farmer, but she never clucked.”
The grandpa nodded relieved. “Good,” he mumbled. “At least you’re not a chick.”
At the next stop, both got off, each carrying a story more in their luggage that no one at home would ever believe.Generations on the Bus – Suspicion of Poultry!
The bus jolted through the city as if it already had a backache.
On the worn-out bench sat a grandpa so old that even his wrinkles had wrinkles. Next to him, a young man with a colorful mohawk, nose ring, and tattoos that looked like a grumpy rainbow settled down.
The grandpa stared at him. Not briefly. Not secretly. But so intensely as if he wanted to catalog him right then and there.
The young man cleared his throat, turned his head, and finally burst out:
“Grandpa, why are you staring at me like that?”
The bus suddenly fell very silent. Even the engine seemed to listen for a moment.
The grandpa blinked, scratched his chin, and said dryly:
“You know, in my youth I once slept with a chicken, and now I’m wondering if you’re my son!”
For a moment, there was absolute silence. Then the young man started laughing. First quietly, then so loudly that the bus driver turned around startled.
“Don’t worry, Grandpa,” he said grinning, “my mother was a farmer, but she never clucked.”
The grandpa nodded relieved. “Good,” he mumbled. “At least you’re not a chick.”
At the next stop, both got off, each carrying a story more in their luggage that no one at home would ever believe.Generationen im Bus – Verdacht auf Federvieh!
Der Bus ruckelte durch die Stadt, als hätte er selbst schon Rückenschmerzen.
Auf der abgewetzten Sitzbank saß ein Opa, so alt, dass selbst die Falten Falten hatten. Neben ihm ließ sich ein junger Mann mit buntem Irokesenschnitt, Nasenring und Tattoos nieder, die aussahen wie ein schlecht gelaunter Regenbogen.
Der Opa starrte ihn an. Nicht kurz. Nicht heimlich. Sondern so intensiv, als wolle er ihn gleich katalogisieren.
Der Junge räusperte sich, drehte den Kopf und platzte schließlich heraus:
„Opa, was klotzt du mich so blöde an!“
Der Bus wurde plötzlich sehr still. Sogar der Motor schien kurz zuzuhören.
Der Opa blinzelte, kratzte sich am Kinn und sagte trocken:
„Weißt Du, in meiner Jugend habe ich einmal ein Huhn gevögelt und jetzt überlege ich, ob Du mein Sohn bist!“
Einen Moment lang herrschte absolute Stille. Dann fing der junge Mann an zu lachen. Erst leise, dann so laut, dass der Busfahrer sich erschrocken umdrehte.
„Keine Sorge, Opa“, sagte er grinsend, „meine Mutter war Bäuerin, aber gegackert hat sie nie.“
Der Opa nickte erleichtert. „Gut“, murmelte er. „Dann bist du wenigstens kein Küken.“
An der nächsten Haltestelle stiegen beide aus, jeder mit einer Geschichte mehr im Gepäck, die zuhause garantiert niemand glauben würde.
Suspicion of poultry!Suspicion of poultry!Verdacht auf Federvieh!
Generations on the Bus – Suspicion of Poultry!The bus jolted through the city as if it already had a backache.
On the worn-out bench sat a grandpa so old that even his wrinkles had wrinkles. Next to him, a young man with a colorful mohawk, nose ring, and tattoos that looked like a grumpy rainbow settled down.
The grandpa stared at him. Not briefly. Not secretly. But so intensely as if he wanted to catalog him right then and there.
The young man cleared his throat, turned his head, and finally burst out:
“Grandpa, why are you staring at me like that?”
The bus suddenly fell very silent. Even the engine seemed to listen for a moment.
The grandpa blinked, scratched his chin, and said dryly:
“You know, in my youth I once slept with a chicken, and now I’m wondering if you’re my son!”
For a moment, there was absolute silence. Then the young man started laughing. First quietly, then so loudly that the bus driver turned around startled.
“Don’t worry, Grandpa,” he said grinning, “my mother was a farmer, but she never clucked.”
The grandpa nodded relieved. “Good,” he mumbled. “At least you’re not a chick.”
At the next stop, both got off, each carrying a story more in their luggage that no one at home would ever believe.Generations on the Bus – Suspicion of Poultry!
The bus jolted through the city as if it already had a backache.
On the worn-out bench sat a grandpa so old that even his wrinkles had wrinkles. Next to him, a young man with a colorful mohawk, nose ring, and tattoos that looked like a grumpy rainbow settled down.
The grandpa stared at him. Not briefly. Not secretly. But so intensely as if he wanted to catalog him right then and there.
The young man cleared his throat, turned his head, and finally burst out:
“Grandpa, why are you staring at me like that?”
The bus suddenly fell very silent. Even the engine seemed to listen for a moment.
The grandpa blinked, scratched his chin, and said dryly:
“You know, in my youth I once slept with a chicken, and now I’m wondering if you’re my son!”
For a moment, there was absolute silence. Then the young man started laughing. First quietly, then so loudly that the bus driver turned around startled.
“Don’t worry, Grandpa,” he said grinning, “my mother was a farmer, but she never clucked.”
The grandpa nodded relieved. “Good,” he mumbled. “At least you’re not a chick.”
At the next stop, both got off, each carrying a story more in their luggage that no one at home would ever believe.Generationen im Bus – Verdacht auf Federvieh!
Der Bus ruckelte durch die Stadt, als hätte er selbst schon Rückenschmerzen.
Auf der abgewetzten Sitzbank saß ein Opa, so alt, dass selbst die Falten Falten hatten. Neben ihm ließ sich ein junger Mann mit buntem Irokesenschnitt, Nasenring und Tattoos nieder, die aussahen wie ein schlecht gelaunter Regenbogen.
Der Opa starrte ihn an. Nicht kurz. Nicht heimlich. Sondern so intensiv, als wolle er ihn gleich katalogisieren.
Der Junge räusperte sich, drehte den Kopf und platzte schließlich heraus:
„Opa, was klotzt du mich so blöde an!“
Der Bus wurde plötzlich sehr still. Sogar der Motor schien kurz zuzuhören.
Der Opa blinzelte, kratzte sich am Kinn und sagte trocken:
„Weißt Du, in meiner Jugend habe ich einmal ein Huhn gevögelt und jetzt überlege ich, ob Du mein Sohn bist!“
Einen Moment lang herrschte absolute Stille. Dann fing der junge Mann an zu lachen. Erst leise, dann so laut, dass der Busfahrer sich erschrocken umdrehte.
„Keine Sorge, Opa“, sagte er grinsend, „meine Mutter war Bäuerin, aber gegackert hat sie nie.“
Der Opa nickte erleichtert. „Gut“, murmelte er. „Dann bist du wenigstens kein Küken.“
An der nächsten Haltestelle stiegen beide aus, jeder mit einer Geschichte mehr im Gepäck, die zuhause garantiert niemand glauben würde.