As a chicken you're only able to stare out from your own gullet, the packaging restricts your movement totally and the cellophane obscures your view, so you're unable to observe the complex machinations that result in you arriving at your target destination.
But eventually the manhandling stops. You can hear the familiar sounds of a kitchen and a restaurant filtering through the cellophane. You're here. Now if only somebody would unwrap you, you'd be able to review the place and then high-tail it out of there.
You can see vaguely human shapes through the cellophane. One voice says, "Chef, chicken delivery's here."
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