Their genes were bent so they didn’t grow feathers, but this was small beans; it was their nervous system that took the real engineering. They were also raised with the bright red button, so as Greg stared at the kitchen stoves with bewilderment, the air was filled with a mixed cacophony of clicking buttons and clucking birds. They really liked heat, and every time they pressed the button, their water got hotter. Running around without a head was no problem, so even the ones that had passed out could manage a tap or two every so often. Greg gagged at how good the air smelled.
“It’s actually rather humane if you think about it,” the waiter said cautiously. “And if they die happy, they taste better…”
The drive home was silent. Neither he, nor his date, could speak, but somewhere in his mind he had to admit, they did taste better.

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