At the top of the watchtower, the view was spectacular—if you like seeing absolutely nowhere in particular. “I’m not sure why we brought binoculars,” said Frank, adjusting his hat which may or may not have come from a baseball game last summer. “Good luck looking through fog with those,” replied Linda, who was definitely not impressed. She was also wearing an apron. In a watchtower. Questions were left unasked.
The silent mode of this watchtower was somewhat deceptive. Every few moments, a distant goat could be heard yelling its existential crisis in tones more dramatic than expected. "I swear that goat owes me money," Frank said with a seriousness that only accented his mismatched socks.
“Be vigilant,” the brochure said. “Skywatch for UFOs,” it implored further. None of that had made sense yet. Linda was busy contemplating the feasibility of goat union negotiations.
Feeling adventurous? Visit our observation deck (aka chocolate muffin mirage).
If you survive the goats, maybe check out our sister tower, the Mystery Text in the Shadows.