The carnie quickly put out her cigarette as a little girl approached the booth to choose a duck, or knock down the jar tower, or throw a ring around a pop bottle.
“Some customer service,” I think, “At least she put out her cigarette.”
They travel around in packs, caries do, like American gypsies. They scrape together a living by throwing together shoddy carnival rides and ripping off parents with cheap, but alluring prizes to expensive, but impossible games. When the fair rolls into town, an entire lot fills with their rundown recreation vehicles and campers, a resembling Hoover towns from days long past.
I keep going down the midway, the “Champs Elysees” of the carnival, and pass through a cloud of cigarette smoke from a ride operator. In the same breath he exhales his addiction and let's loose a series of curse words, behaviors far from a professional nature.
1s at f/5.6 ISO 100
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