The infamous talking rooster of Towerboro, an obvious tourist attraction. Currently owned by Wanda Debbie Prichard. Prichard? Must be a last name. We’ll determine a first name soon enough for the purveyor of the lone antique store of town, another monopoly.
Jack doesn’t like the rooster. Jack heard it says his name. “Jack son special,” he crowed to elaborate just afterwards.
“He he,” his father laughed, “that’s *us* son. I’mmm Jack, and you’rree Jack, see? (he points to the respective parties here) Jack’s son, ha ha.”
“And you certainly *are* special, young man,” wife Debbie Wanda Prichard (Prichard again?) added while pecking his cheek with a couple of quick kisses. The rooster leaned forward, seeming to want to peck Jack Jr.’s cheek as well. “Special,” he clucked to reiterate.
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“Show’s over, Prichard,” said the purveyor at 5 o’clock while setting down his cage on the floor and opening the door. “Time to go home.”
Sunklands 