“Mr. Washington, no offense, but that’s a terrible mystery,” said Heath. “Give me a better one.”
“I grant you it’s not the kind of New York City mystery you’ll see on the internet,” Josiah said, “but this is a small town and mystery beggars can’t be mystery choosers.”
“You saying there aren’t any?” Heath said.
“Well, you know Richard Street?” Josiah said.
“You mean Snob Hill?” said Heath.
“No, Snob Hill is Richard St., Jefferson St., and Crestview Cove,” Josiah said. “Part of it, maybe, but not the whole thing.”
“What’s the mystery then?” Heath said.
“You ever been up there? Every single house on Richard St., bar none, has a chicken out front. Some sheet metal, some wood, but none of them food. All art.”
“So…?” Heath said.
“So that’s the mystery!” Josiah said. “I call it…”
The Legendary Cock Street of Tecumseh County
“Oh god, Mr. Washington!” Heath cried. “You can’t call it that!”
“Well, that’s what it is, isn’t it? You got a better name for a lineup of boy chickens all on one street?”
“You can call them roosters, maybe?” said Heath.
“Hmm, I guess I could call it, instead…”
The Legendary Roosters of Dick St
“No! That’s even worse! Just…just stop calling it anything!” Heath shuddered. “Why would you even shorten Richard like that? Nobody does that anymore!”
“Well, I’m an old man, so in my day they did,” replied Josiah. “You telling me you don’t want to hear more about the…”
The Legendary Cocks on Dick Street
“You’re just doing that to make me go away,” Heath said. “You know how gross it is for somebody old to say those words.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Josiah sniffed. “You don’t even want to speculate what dark powers the rich folks up there are keeping at bay with their row of fake cocks?”
“NO.” Heath said. “That is the worst mystery ever.”
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