Massaging at the county fair: dusty, shuffling passersby refuse to make eye-contact. For some reason every time a person is asked if they want a chair massage, they laugh. Is it funny? Is this because people don't know what else to do, so they laugh? Do they think I'm funny? That the notion of getting a massage is somehow (not good funny) ridiculous? I don't know.
Tonight I bought a gyro on the way out of the fair, and walked alone among the throngs in the not-so-dark dark, lit up with all the carnival rides and booth/foodstall lighting, bubbles from a bubble machine flying through the air. Fat kids stood about, eating popcorn. The girl who made my gyro had a little piece of fried chicken on her ass. There were sounds off to the right, from the pit area, where maybe there were ATVs. Little boys crawled around in the grass off in the darkness, and a very butch young woman belted a dance-remix version of Alanis Morrissette's "You Oughta Know" at the karaoke contest. It smelled like manure, and I was eating. For some reason, this satisfied me; at the county fair, it makes sense to eat and smell shit all at the same time. I decided to keep my foil wrapper in my breast pocket of my scrubs; the trashcans were disgusting, and had lids on them that you had to push up in order to throw away items. I'm assuming this is meant to keep flies out, but it discouraged me from touching the lid. All the trashcans were like this.
This morning all my ideas came to me in the shower. Everything else waited until later.
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