There was this man named Larry was known for his insatiable desire to know everything about everyone. He prided himself on being the neighbourhood’s unofficial detective, poking his nose where it didn’t belong and often regretting the consequences.
One day, Larry found himself walking past the town’s old mental hospital. From behind the tall, wooden fence came an odd sound: a chorus of voices chanting, “13… 13… 13…”
Larry’s curiosity was immediately piqued. What could they be doing? he wondered. His mind raced with possibilities—were they playing a game? Conducting some sort of secret experiment? Or maybe even plotting an escape?
The fence was too high to see over, but there was a small knothole in one of the planks. Unable to resist, Larry leaned in to take a peek. As he squinted to adjust his view, a sudden sharp jab poked him directly in the eye! Stumbling back, clutching his face in pain, he heard the chanting change.
“14… 14… 14…” the voices roared, now accompanied by raucous laughter.
Larry stumbled home, humbled and half-blind, realizing that sometimes, it’s better to let a mystery remain just that—a mystery. From that day forward, Larry became a firm believer in the saying, “Not my circus, not my monkeys.”
And the patients? They kept chanting, waiting for the next curious passerby to unknowingly add to their count.
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