yesterday at the fair

in the future, everyone will be able to imitate Andy Warhol for fifteen minutes. 

they're all breathing. 

the energy's waned a bit. the smiles are a bit forced, the gazes manic with ennui. 

I'm drunk and I'm not wearing pants, so this isn't a good time to talk to me about Jesus. 

this comes with a matching vanity cabinet! 

it pissed rain and a north wind blew. my boots leaked. I had another scotoma-thing. ate cold fries with bacon dip and listened to Bret Michaels caterwaul from across the grounds. realized too late that I missed the Pure Prairie League play "Amie" at the Sluicebox. gave chair massages whilst wearing a scarf and gloves, singing along to Gerry Rafferty and Journey on my coworker's iPod. dug my fingers into the cloudlike fuzz on the backs of freshly shorn sheep. the best part is leaving at night; I walk by the bungee ride and stop to watch people scream and laugh. their giddiness is contagious. the seat is neon-lit against the cold black summer sky. 

today's the last day.