I understand the call of carny life. I love the colours of the carnival, the crazed, lilting music, the wild, twirling rides, and the house of mirrors that is both terrifying with its distorted images and beautiful with its reflected, glinting rainbows. During the day a carnival is asleep, but at night the dusty fairground transforms into a place of magic. These things seem to speak to me.
If I were a Carny, I'd be a fortune teller. I'd set up shop with a dark, velvet table cloth, and the most sparkly crystal ball I could find. I would wear deep purple and maroon, and I would speak with a phoney Eastern European accent. My eyes would be shifty, as if I were busy taking in all of the spirits in my candle-filled tent, and I would take long, drawn-out pauses between my sentences. For the people I liked, I would predict bright futures filled with love and happiness. For people that irked me (men with mullets and women with overpowering perfume), I'd predict tailbone boils, and strep throat. Of course, I'd make these people pay in advance.
If you were a carny, what would you be?
