* * *

Edward is gobbling a chicken. It's hard as wood. He puffs and pants, trying his best. He's scratched his throat and has smeared chicken fat all over himself.

It serves him right – he bought it because it was so cheap. Who saw anything cheaper than this? Thirty-eight cents for a pound. It's twice as cheap as any ordinary cheap chicken. Now Edward's stuck. Don't buy cheap meat, gentlemen!

I'm not going to throw it away, I'll eat it up anyway. I'm not some picky American who leaves half a plate of meat and then throws it into the garbage. I come from a country where the wars and misfortunes came in droves this century. I treat food with care. I've never thrown food away. After I'm done eating, a cat or a dog has nothing to lick from my plate. I'm a Russian peasant by nature, as I've mentioned before. This frugality about food comes also from my hungry years in Moscow, it's not just genetic (both of my grandfathers were born in the country). I gnaw on the bones – be it fish or meat bones – I polish them all equally clean, and I never cut the fat out. I eat everything.