Carnival Ride; short version

Monday, afternoon. The sun is high. The wind is cool. The perfect day for a carnival. Crawl along the highway. Speed through desolate roads. I reach a field. Tents, clustered in the center. Enter, pay one dollar for a ticket. Then I’m in. Rides loom. Grim statues against a grey sky. I smell the buttery scent of popcorn, paint drying on easels. The Ferris wheel goes round and round. The Twister spins its passengers till everything is a blur. Stop walking. A woman is gesturing. I approach. She sits at a card table. A glass globe, placed in the center. She smiles, points. “Two dollars,” she says in broken English. I pay. She smiles. Points to the globe. “Your future?” Quick thinking. I glare, swipe. Miss the globe by in inches. She screams. Falls off the chair. The table goes down. A crash. Glass skitters. She stands. Cries. I walk away, into dust.