We ended up at The Green Door
Store, a bouncer's recommendation, dancing to music from the 50s or 60s, maybe
70s (I'm bad at matching music with its era).
One day till June. I couldn't stop thinking about June, and wondering what he thought about June.
He abruptly decided he wanted to leave. I felt
insecure, uncomfortable. I still feel uncertain quite a bit as it relates to him. Both his remiss and his regard come out of nowhere.
Eighteen days into June. I can't stop thinking about June, and wondering what he thinks about June.
A
journalist friend and fellow wanderer said I should travel with carnies and I
mentioned I've tossed the idea around. In college I
decided to write a piece about the carnies that worked the fair in my hometown. I became
friends with the niece or daughter or cousin's kid (something like that) of the
owners. I was introduced to her for a tour and further introductions to the mostly South African "exchange students” working the rides. She quickly started flirting with me. I quickly put her in the friend zone, albeit with a smile. At one point she left me with
a couple guys that were manning a game—I can't remember the rules or object
now—the one where rubber ducks float around in a small pool. I was asking the normal
questions: where are you from, how long have you been traveling with the fair,
why do you do it, when one interjected, “There's a party tonight. We always throw a party before we pack up. You should come.” I'm not sure why people divulge
information to me.
Close to 10 pm, I walked into the
fair grounds with my photographer. We could hob nob with the worst of em... we were the worst of em... Under a red and white striped tent, Daisy Duke, newly impregnated midriff showing, was double-fisting strawberry wine coolers, cigarette hanging from her lips. Alice and the Mad Hatter passed around a fifth of rum (once the kegs were tapped) in front of their trailer. When asked to see inside, through the crack in the door Mr. Hatter slide hallucinogens in the nightstand before opening the door a bit wider. Batman was sweating because of “the meth.” And the adults eyeballed us newbies, not with disdain but with corrupt smirks, hoping for “fuck me” eyes back.
Surreal is a carnie costume party in small town Missouri.
"I don't usually meet people that like such weird experiences, where nothing is strange enough."
"I think, it's like, I feel more comfort when I'm uncomfortable."
"I do too."
"I think that's why I'm always
leaving."
A girl between 10 and 12 years old got on the M 15 bus towards South Ferry, waving as it pulled away. After one stop, she got up and asked the bus driver
what stop was next and where she needed to get off for her destination.
“You travel by yourself?”
“My mom is waiting for me.”
You'll get curious looks when you travel alone. Most people forget what it feels like to be waited for.
My friends ask me how it was and I say something like, “It
was amazing.” Period. How can I put five months into a coherent statement? How
can I explain why I'd rather still be in London? ...Love is probably an
appropriate word here, huh?
I'd like to call someone--not him--to recount to someone the quirks I particularly miss. Things always feel more real when said out loud...
He would open my cider bottle with the bottle cap of his, and then as we
walked he would scour the streets for sharp corners on trash bins or fences. It
reminded me so much of Missouri. Turns out, South Africans and Missourians
aren't all that different.
