O beautiful was the werewolf in his evil forest. We took him to the carnival and he started crying when he saw the Ferris wheel. Electric green and red tears flowed down his furry cheeks. He looked like a boat out on the dark water. ― Richard Brautigan
When I was in high school and living in Nicaragua a carnival used to come to Managua a couple times a year and set up in the dusty field across the highway from our school. It has a lot of memories to me, not all of them exactly and completely good. The thing is, a Third World Central American carnival leaves a lot to be desired in cleanliness, maintenance, and safety. The smell of ozone from electrical arcing was mixed with the fume from the spicy food, and the miasma of people getting sick from the crazy nauseating rides – all probably bought second-hand when they failed safety inspections from more civilized carnivals – and only washed off with a thrown bucket of water through the hot humid tropical night air.
Still, it was a magical time and place. Maybe are carnivals are.