Where chickens can cross the road… “

Where chickens can cross the road… “
Or is it just me?
I’m not staying for long, but I’m definitely coming out.
I’m waiting in a restaurant in Queens, in 1930s America. Mary Anne McLeod walks in.
The answer will light up your life.
Or are we?
The synonym had been invited but decided to stroll into the tavern next door.
Maybe it’s because they don’t know what to do with a drunken sailor.
I had an uncandy feeling I was being followed.