Satan’s Ferris Wheel

Biting my nails, I looked up. Am I big enough? Why would anyone do that? I glanced at the lights that sped past me; a new hurdle was in my way. I had cleared them before, but they were nothing like this. Steel twisting and turning and squeaking. My heart pounded just like the rattle of the steel cages as they passed. I quickly ran out of fingernails and just started biting the skin off my fingertips where the nails should have been. What is this ride? Satan’s Ferris wheel? It was the Zipper.

The closer I got to the front of the line, the louder it got, the louder my heart got. It looked like it was being held together by chicken wire and duct tape. The man running it looked like he was too. Really, I am going to ride this thing? The operator doesn’t have a shirt on. His sandy mullet swaying in the breeze from the ride, his hands greasy, his cigarette needed a flip.

I can’t remember who the other daredevil was on my adventure. Probably a Horvath, or Hamilton, or someone else

from the North North and Rawling Street crew, whom ever it was they were the ultimate salesperson. A hurdle this high was out of the ordinary for me. When it approached our turn, I wanted to back out, but I couldn’t let them know I was afraid.

Our cell, make that death trap, came to a rest. I noticed a grim reaper tattoo on the arm of the man that was sealing our casket. Click. We were locked in. Slowly we made it to the top. All of a sudden we took off. The smell of fried food was replaced by a gush of fresh wind. We flipped over and over, both laughing, wanting more. I was afraid of the best ride we have ever had at the Fayette County Fair. I always hope it is there. It’s the only thing worth the price of admission.

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