Picture if you will the fairground. A place of bustle and of hustle and of joy. Children scream, parents laugh and stall holders look on bemused. But at some point the fun must cease and the contraptions and rides and wondrous carny folk must move on to their next stop, leaving us with the smell of horses, the memories of things past and the hope associated with it all coming again next year.
And in the meantime they provide us with some rather picturesque creepiness.
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