Green Frozen Eyes pt. 5

“Do you know where you’re going?” Commensurion asked.

            “Sure,” Johnson answered.  “It’s straight down this road until you cross into Plunder County.  It’s the first road on the left after you cross the county line.”

            “Plunder County…” Commensurion repeated, dread and anxiety hanging on each letter of his words like turd-shaped Christmas tree ornaments.

            “Oh, don’t worry,” Johnson laughed.  “It isn’t all chicken houses and churches.”

            “You’ve been here before?”

            “Not to Mr. Scientist’s place, but to Plunder County.”  As Johnson said this Commensurion saw the sign reading, “Welcome to Plunder County, home of the Religious Rooster Festival.”