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THIS IS MY LOT, BEAUTIFUL STRANGERS.
 Oh we'll wake up with the sun-rays on our covers (you'll smell like crisp linen because of the laundry's the other day.) You would make a quick coffee and we'll grab the bagels left untouched from yesterday's breakfast. We'll set out in the classic mini (much-loved) with our cream cheese and bagels for the biggest fair in town. How could we give the Ferris Wheel a miss? We would think we're early but realise half the town was up by half-past seven. The fair would smell of cotton-candy and rich, rich honeyed popcorn and everyone would be speaking in a third higher than their normal volumes, in a third greater exuberance. At a precise moment you'd look over and smile and turn it into an impish grin. I wouldn't want to patronize the Ghost Train but somehow you'd drag me to it, with half a bagel eaten, and a greater fraction of exhilaration waiting to be fed. I wouldn't be able to remember how many times I laughed- it would be as common as the stares from the people around us. It wouldn't be long till we got our first ice-cream cones for the day, and they would smell like fresh whipped cream off the counter at a side-walk cafe. And then, it would be only a quarter past eleven. We'd still have a whole afternoon for the carousel, for the roller coasters, for the bumper cars, for the bangers and mash, and a whole lifetime for a thousand other world-class town fairs, for a thousand other coffee-breathed saturday mornings. TonFlyingHigh!9:49 PM *** |
Behind The Wheel; 
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