Chicken Dancing.

Oh man wearing a Detroit Red Wings jersey over a Chicken suit, standing on the side of the road. As you danced your seductive dance, waving that placard up in the air, let it be known that I would have bought whatever you were selling, except for the fact that the lettering on your placard was too small. As I sped down the road, ensorceled by your captivating dance, I pitied the fact that all I could read was $6.99. What were you selling, dear Dancing Chicken, for only $6.99?

Oh how I wish that you had printed your sign in a large, more bold font, with better kerning and leading. If only you had, I would have stopped. Yes, I would have interrupted my trip to talk with you, to share with you, to hand you $6.99 to purchase whatever magic item you were advertising.

Alas. I sped again by that corner today. You were not there. Did you sell out whatever it was you were selling? Did you take your glorious dance to another corner? Maybe one day, one day soon, I will see you again, Dancing Chicken.