It’s a cute cap, with a yellow chick and pink zigzag stitching––like the chicks all over Key West, herded by freaking-out mothers. Whole streets stand still: trolleys, bikes, convertibles, and
Harleys waiting for a flock to figure out which way to go. A Chicken Catcher hired by the city in the 1990s failed, the way controlling most anything in Key West fails. Chickens have belonged here since the roosters were imported from Trinidad to cockfight, and every Key West household kept laying hens. At Tucker’s, I’m reminded why I love Key West: because the right things end up here and last. Like me: a classic Key West chick in a chick cap
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