They must have used a Sharpie. Of all the markers to use, they used a thrice-damned Sharpie. You know, it was bad enough when people didn’t notice I have a moustache, because my facial hair is so light, but to draw a moustache on, on TOP of my own, in a black Sharpie marker… ARGH! That shit’s never coming out.

Screw it. I tossed the washcloth back into the basin, and walked back over to the mess tent, where, apparently, hell had intersected with reality once again. In the form of a food fight. Pancakes in G.A.’s face. Mountain Dew and coffee flying (sacrilege!). An ash tray clanging into the no smoking sign. I sighed. This whole mess resembled the daily drama in Lansing life. Probably Saginaw too, where these guys were from. Probably everywhere there were freaks like me and them. Freaks that dreamed, and could meet their dreams.

I started heading back to Celestine’s trailer, because there really was nothing to do until I met the man himself. I had made myself a promise not to visit any more attractions until I talked to the man in charge. I heard all kinds of crashes and curses and people running, but it didn’t matter. The beat and the music were… it almost seemed like they were a little out of control. Like an orchestra without a conductor. Each bit knew it’s own part well enough to *almost* keep it in beat with the rest… but there was that slight, but all-important difference about when it’s actually drawn together perfectly by a conductor.

There was another thing he was noticing. This place wasn’t exactly IN time. I recognized that sort of thing, because I have always, always felt slightly off from the world, whenever time was concerned. I had to pay special attention to the numbers on the clock to plan a day, or be places on time. That anal-retentiveness became habit, then ingrained… but this place. This place synched with me, time-wise. For instance, I knew G.A. He StoryTells a LARP I played in. BUT, I’m not so sure he’s met me yet. I’m not sure, for him, that he’s moved down to Ohio yet.

I sat my rotund ass down on Celestine’s steps and tried to figure out how the people here couldn’t notice these things. I also couldn’t help but wonder if they’d thought about bringing in the future, as they had so neatly brought in the past… that would make for some great rides…

It’s like they didn’t give a damn. I had to blink, my eyes were getting misty. That annoyed me. But they didn’t even notice.

I sat on the steps, shifting every once in a while when one ass cheek started to hurt more than the other. Steps to trailers weren’t the most comfortable chairs. Anyway, the music was still in the back of my head, bass beat and all. Dante had come back, as well as Mr. James. They headed out into this grove of trees that didn’t look like it belonged on the farm. Ten or so minutes later, a hoard of buzzing ladybugs and a giant insect-arachnid-something from a nightmare went into the woods too. I wasn’t surprised. The buzzing made sense after the music had started to sound angry. The nightmare thing must be an angry bit of the carnival, like the Clown. I could dig that.

I lit up a clove, considering my decision to wait here until Dr. Celestine arrived. For the fifth or so time I decided it was a good idea. Things this big have a mind of their own, a will of their own, and the universe seeks to balance itself. Why wouldn’t a mystical carnival? And it’s not like I wasn’t supposed to be here. The spirit of the place was singing to me, and I had the urge to dance in its webs. I took a drag and held the smoke in my mouth, like I always do. It’s not the smoke in my lungs that I like. That hurts. It’s the taste of the smoke. The cinnamon on my lips and the clove coating my mouth. I exhaled, and a smile crept onto my face.

A new mid-range entered the song. Frantic, needing, and wanting. The kind that snags your attention weather you want to give it or not. And then it faded away. Kind of reminded me of a stage magician. Ah, well. Weird images I get sometimes. I took out my Golden Ticket and looked at it while I shifted to the other cheek. There it was. The trailer directly across the midway, in exactly the same setup as Dr. Celestine had. Only… separated. Lady Ambrosia’s Fortune-Telling. I wonder if she used Tarot. I wonder if her Tarot talked back to her like mine did at me. Maybe hers would be a better place to go once I talked to Dr. Celestine instead of Mr. James’ Games of Chance.

I liked the idea of Tarot cards better than randomness any day. I stood up, and brushed off my slacks. My resolve held me there, but how long before I gave in to messing with a fortune-teller? How long would I resist revealing just a glimpse of what most shut their eyes to? Oh, the mischief.