It's Tuesday right? Passing by the fairgrounds, the aisles abandoned, the carnival rides so colorful they almost glow in the dreary dampness of the dawn. Dead, vulnerable stuffed animals in plastic bags lobbed on top of the trucks on their backs feet in the air. Cleaners picking up the trash from the day before. Pelapa umbrella in front of house on the cliff, ridges in the hillside eaten away by the jaws of erosion. I can almost smell the fried butter sticks. Really? would you eat that?

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