Gelda sat in the car park, just looking.
Along the midway, the lights sparkled, softly illuminating the crowds of happy families chowing down on succulent hot-dogs and gloriously sticky cotton-candy.
Opening her door, she glanced over at Petal.
“C’mon, dude. Let’s go.”
Closing her door and locking the car once Petal got out, Gelda pocketed the keys and moved slowly towards TwiLand, a TwiHard theme park.
Steppenwolf Mayan must be making a friggin’ fortune.
The smell of juicy franks and that delicious theme-park relish made her mouth wet while at the same time the noise of a hundred different attractions rang jubilantly in her ears, meshing into a symphony of fun and saliva.
Gelda felt the delicious crunch of sawdust under her Reeboks and smelt the wild animals from the nearby circus tent as she ventured tentatively into the main midway.
Where do I start?
Petal sunk lower in the seat as they pulled in.
Already she could hear the discordant jangle of pipe organs and those off-key calliopes these places always used.
As they parked, the smell of vomit and stale food began to seep in through the air-vents of Gelda’s crappy Toyota, almost miasmic in the way it seemed to cling.
Petal opened the door and stepped out into the raucous night, the glare from the lights assaulting her eyes, causing them to weep and sting.
The piece-of-shit Toyota beeped twice as the locks engaged, and she followed Gelda over to the midway.
The screams of illiterate teenagers pierced the night like steel slivers driven into her ears. Everywhere she looked, things sparkled and played baseball. Underfoot, the sawdust slid askew with every step she took, making her think it was covering the world’s largest pool of vomit.
To top it all off, something stunk like wet cat.
When does it end?