The core of this short story is the tension between the everyday and the impossible. It's about our human willingness to suspend disbelief for the chance to experience something truly extraordinary. The conflict isn't just about whether a rooster can talk; it's about the narrator's internal battle between his rational mind and the evidence of his own senses. I didn't explain the magic; I simply presented it and then left the reader in a state of amused wonder.

Lorenzo tells these tales of espionage and international intrigue, and just as we believe him, Ola completely refutes them. Who is telling the truth? The worldly rooster or the bitter old woman? The theme of the story isn't the point; the experience of hearing Lorenzo's stories matters. It's a gentle commentary on how we consume and interpret narratives, whether from a rooster, social media, the echo chamber media, or a history book.

The story begins with a simple drive through rural Arizona, a place a good deal of might just pass through. Yet, tucked away on a dirt road is this "8th Wonder of the World." This evoked a feeling of nostalgia and a longing for a world where such bizarre and wonderful things could be real. It suggests that if you just take a chance and turn down that dusty side road, you might find something that defies all explanation. It made the world feel a little bigger and more mysterious.

We are all ultimately defined by the events in our lives I'm no exception. The first defining experience in my life was contracting Bulbar Polio at eighteen months of age.
My second experience was being raised in Gilbert, Arizona, during the fifties and sixties. It was an idyllic Southwest community of mid-twentieth century American. The population was around 1800 people, including those who lived outside the city limits.

My wife (also a Gilbert girl) live in Marana, Arizona, a northwestern suburb of Tucson. She's also my best friend, my squeeze, doubles as my editor, and is my most ardent fan and my most vocal critique.