UNDERWATER FERRIS WHEEL
by Michael Bailey
THE LANKY gentleman in the pinstriped suit and moth-eaten neck ruffle staggers forward. He holds a card for you to take: COME RIDE THE UNDERWATER FERRIS WHEEL.
THERE IS a mixed scent of caramel corn, candied apples, corndogs, and spilled beer as Cate waits her turn in line with her son. The trailer has a sign lit with small yellowing bulbs, which works cordially with the other food trailers to light up the otherwise dark path of sweets, meats, and deep-fried foods on sticks.
She lets go of Ian long enough to dig in her purse for money.
“Large cotton candy,” she says to the man leaning over the counter.
“Stick or bagged?” he says, pointing to the prefilled plastic bags of rainbow clouds lining the inside of the trailer.
In back, a man wearing
