7

Just how many people need to stop me on the street and telling me my recipe for egg salad sandwiches isn't all that great?

It all started at the county fair and to be honest, I was so nicotine poisoned I can't remember if I walked there or flew in on my 747 and landed in a trailer park and killed a bunch of trees and wells and farm animals and fences and basements and clotheslines and outhouses, but goddammit I was there.

As the bodies began falling from the Ferris Wheel and judges began pinning ribbons on said bodies, I made my way to the nearest game booth to find a middle aged man with a shotgun his mouth. I read the sign.

"GIVE THIS MAN ONE GOOD REASON NOT TO! WINNER GETS (1) SMALL PRIZE! TRADE UP! TRADE UP!"

I couldn't think of anything. He couldn't either. Not anymore.

Past the stables where people showed off their children in cages, hoping for an award, hoping someone from the local shirt making factory would buy them in an auction, I spotted the chance to made a little cash. But not before I was grabbed by the arms and escorted to the ringmaster's tent.