Bubba Cody paid big for the old Krinkle toys. All the classic cereal toys really, but especially the Krinkle ones. It was just another thing you did when you lived around Shallow Creek, if you found some old kids toys in your attic, or in some dusty cardboard box in your cellar. They had to be from cereals, mind. None of them fast food things. Bubba didn’t like those, and he sure as hell wouldn’t pay for them. First thing I took him was a red plastic Plymouth that I picked up from a yard sale just a week after I’d heard about his collection. Walking through the town towards the fairground, it felt heavy in my pocket, like a lump of gold.
Barely a soul went to the fairground, but it would be wrong to say it had fallen on hard times. To everyone’s best recollection, only a handful every wee
