The kidlet and I were on State Street this afternoon when this weird see-through box truck filled with mylar balloons passed us. "Chicken Man!" I screamed, although not loud enough to scare her. He turned down Merchants Row. Of course, we followed, and there it was, parked on the side of Chatham Street: the Chicken Man truck. As we approached, an older lady was fiddling with the back of the truck. Chicken Woman? A small car pulled up, A 50ish guy got out. Chicken Man!
We got closer and, of course, I took out my camera and started shooting. I mean, Chicken Man! Chicken Woman tapped Chicken Man, by now at the driver's side of the truck, nodded toward me and said "He's taking pictures!" Yeah, like, seriously, lady, your husband has been driving around in a see-through box truck filled with balloons for years and this is something new? "You don't like pictures?" I asked. Chicken Man stopped fiddling long enough to grant his assent.
One does not ask Chicken Man questions, of course. It would ruin all the mystery behind the Harvard graduate with the half-baked Web site and Twitter feed. Besides, the kidlet really wanted to see the horses down at the other end of the street.