Love at a Farm: Fowl Play

I

     This was his first time leaving his house since dear old Trump left.

      He couldn't face the sun knowing that the warmth wouldn't hit more than his face when it was more than his pink putrid skin that needed warmth at night. He didn't eat, for eating did nothing in feeling the hole he felt inside.

     But today he had to visit a nearby farm to show the children of Russia what would happen if any of them defied sexual norms. Something he himself defiled but still couldn't come out of it, he'd be fine with suffocating in the closet.

     "I can't love someone who so scared to love." Don's words echoed in his mind and Putin let his head fall to shame as he walked to the car.

     'I'm not scared', he thought as laid his head against the cars window and told the driver to drive and threatened to waterboard him with vodka.

     But, alas, he knew he was lying to himself.

     Homosexuality was something that he thought was disgusting, along the same vulgar lines of incest and bestiality. But nights with Donald made him feel like a good vodka.

     The driver pulled into the driveway of a large brown barn. Putin looked at the barn he grew up in and nostalgia hit him reminding him of the times he drank vodka as a youngin'.

     He opened the car door and stepped onto the gravely land and took a deep breath. A smile formed on his face, but he quickly pulled it off once he remembered sharing this smell with Don.

     "Путин, вы готовитесь, хотите, чтобы мы получили курицу, которую вы собираетесь ударить?" (Putin, are you preparing, do you want us to get the chicken you are about to hit?)

Putin didn't look to the person speaking,"да" (ya)

*****
Apologies for this chapter being so short, I was busy doing the job that I have.

QOTD: What age did you start drinking Vodka?

I do not speak Russian so I just used Google translate and I don't even know how it works. lol.