The Chicken Farmer

The chickens followed him from inside their coop, pacing back and forth. They never took their eyes off him.

He stopped going outside except when entirely necessary. He'd constantly peek through the curtains hoping they'd not notice. They always noticed. They were waiting for him to make a mistake.

Chickens were meant to eat pretty much anything. But his chickens had gotten a taste for grapes. They were sweet. They were also expensive.

He couldn't afford to feed them nothing but grapes, so the chickens had gotten a taste for eyes. Now, they were determined to have his other one.

Ataraxia

He was plagued by a disturbed mental state, in that his mind was almost always perfectly relaxed. There were brief episodes of interruption over the course of the day, when he might eat a bit of sustenance or move an inch here or there. But even in these moments of excitement, his mind was preternaturally tranquil.

We would watch him for hours at a time, recording the slightest movements. On the one hand, we envied his peacefulness, and became more contemplative ourselves, but we still looked at him as something of a freak.

This was the life of a sloth.