I sit and stare at my red nails all night. They look too plastic. They aren't. South People could wear it well. I feel strange. Selling and buying I don't know about. Things are so simple I wonder at the fuss. Nothing seems justified or worked out correctly. Fairs in the summer give clowns for free and rides to go high. Cotton candy melts on my tongue, stains my teeth. I go and eat anyway. All it do is get stared at. While young girls and boys make love on the top of the wheel in the cage across from mine, couldn't be more than ten. Singular jeans and cutoffs can't keep their eyes off of mine. I lose all my dimes in the arcades.

 

        Shooting metal animals for a prize. Categories in championship. The people's faces stare at me. They gather closer. Crowding in. Crowding me in, faces, round, fat, ugly. Grotesque images entrap me in the circle.

 

        They cut me off the line, cheer when I reach the ground.

 

        Paper plates carried to a wooden splintered bench to grovel like a pig. Tea pigs sitting in cups. Going round and round aboard wooden planks -- they laugh.

 

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