It’s “back-then” and you’re walking around at the YMCA summer carnival. All them hologram circle sunglasses and flimsy stove-top hats. Fucking 3D alien t-shirts. That guy’s eye is all whacked out, and you think about the rave he may have went to last weekend. The cart spins fast on an up-and-down track, the DJ-booth/ride-operator plays a (Techno Remix) of “Bam Bam,” and Danny hangs onto the rail while his feel flap in the air in front of your face. Balloons pop and rings ting off all the bottle necks greased for-the-win. For a split second, you only hear the sound of all the rides creaking, and panic sets in, thinking the whole place is falling apart. But it already has been falling apart, only in a way-way fun way. Heat mixes with pressure and someone hands you a sip-too-much of something. Night of the Living Dead vibes creep out as the sun sets along the community center roof top. Danny is throwing up on his older brother’s back while you eat an elephant ear and look at the sneakers walking past. Holographic Jordans walk across a cracked faux glass framed cast photo of 90210. Chunks of hair are stuck in the bars swinging the big wheel cart, and at the top you make out with someone. Eyes open. This whole situation glorifies the feeling of lovely terror.