byHe called himself Jim Rush.
No uglier giant had ever come striding in out of the rain to make a name for himself under the big top. He had the thickest eyebrows I’ve ever laid eyes on—and the boniest face.
When you’ve been in the Carny game as long as I have you don’t let new faces get on your nerves. But Rush was out of this world! When I looked at him, I seemed to be in a dark room, sweating and stumbling over things. Then the room would vanish, and he’d be sitting on the platform at my side, his face a big piece of jagged glass glinting in the sunlight.
It was just my nerves, of course. Just a midget’s overheated imagination. I’m sure he wouldn’t have looked that way to Dali. It didn’t last, anyway. In his street clothes, and most of the time on the platform, all he did was scare t
