The Death of Fashion

Fashion has a graveyard? They told me good fashion has an expiration date but bad fashion lives forever, but residents of Highgreen say that isn't so. The tale they tell is that a tombstone there changes its inscription without human agency to the next fad to die. Unbelievable? I went to check it out anyway, because while I don't always believe it, Calp the fashion investigator always solves it!
Highgreen has been higher and greener, according to the fellows whose hats at least looked to have been founding members of the community. A village was built atop a hill long ago, but it grew like the size of collars in the last three years so that now it covers a few hills and all the lands between. I suggested they call it Lowbrown instead after the color of the bricks used in later developments. They told me it usually took about thirty years of living there to start making that joke, and then we were friends. We exchanged the gift of knowledge, from them the location of the famous tombstone and from me some tips they swore to implement if they ever wanted to recreate a scene from the infernal depths. Sounds like a hell of a weekend to me!
I won't tell you their names because I'm the jealous type when it comes to friendship, but I will tell you about the path to the tombstone. Once it was outside of town if my information was correct. These days it's on the edge of a park where rich children walk their nannies and young men without invitations display their plumage. Bushes obscure the small tomb from common view, which increases the treasure tingles but compels me to say this here: When your old friend Calp dies, make sure everybody knows!
I brushed aside the foliage and stepped in, and there I found true horror. The name on the tombstone was "Shoes with False Toes That Make the Wearer Appear Hooved." Those are my favorite! Or they were. Anyone who tries to claim I ever liked them is in for a one, and a two, and a quick apology over my shoulder as I run as fast as I can, which will be faster without these hoof shoes. That confirmed the message, but was it from beyond? There was only one way to find out. I stayed in Highgreen for a week, reading reviewers turning against hooves and trading jaw bombs with my new friends. That was when you could see me, but I was still around when you couldn't, keeping an eye on the tombstone. A waste of time and money? My boss thought so. That the pursuit of truth is always rewarded is the only excuse I can offer.
One day I saw from my arboreal perch a man creep in with tools and intent. I watched him resurface the tombstone, take a break, eat a nice meal, read a slim volume of poetry, and start etching a new name.
"I have you now!" I yelled as I scrambled down the tree, and if you take nothing else from this article, I can tell you it was an easier task without my favorite shoes than with.
"So you have," he said, and nearly startled me all the way back up. Who was it but the legendary Mayor Tneln! I only knew him as the mayor of fashion, but it turned out he was the mayor of Highgreen as well. He had retired from the criticism racket to leave it to a younger set, but did that stop him from making a pronouncement or two from the impenetrable anonymity of a supernatural occurrence when the cat scratched his spine? Not a chance!
I can't blame him, but I sure can expose him, because I solved it again. Till next time, leave the lowest button alone. I will, and I'm Calp, the fashion investigator.
Finis