The annual fair was as exciting as usual in the valley. Kettlecorn being consumed by the bucket, business owners with their tents set up selling keychains engraved with every name but yours, and young dads fanning themselves as the afternoon sun scorched their skin. There was even a pony ride, in which a large man dressed as up as Santa was attempting to cut a girl in line.
I breathed in the smell of fried food and animal manure, smiling to myself. I had booked the live band that was currently playing some sort of funk-jazz style of music last minute, but it seemed to be a hit. The older folk and moms all gathered with their overpriced beer and kabobs, getting so into it that some began to bow down and worship at the foot of the stage.
The playground was packed, young children falling off slides left and right. I watched as a toddler got smacked with a swing, toppled over in shock, and then began to cry until the sugar from their last banana split hit, and then they were off to the swings once again.