Fun in the Sun

Fun in the Sun, thought Cobb as he lay out his tanning material on the roof of his apartment building. The air was less thick with cancerous debris at this height, and Cobb was looking forward to roasting in the February sunshine. From his vantage point he could see almost all of the Watershed Heights ghetto below him. It was an inspiring image, one he hoped to convert into a small figurine one day, but that would have to wait.

Cobb slipped out of his suspenders and slathered on the SPF. Aaahh, he sighed. Aaaaahhh.

He drifted off into a pleasant nap. Dreams of Tahiti and friendly island natives danced before his eyes. All was well in the alternate universe Cobb inhabited in his sleep until a piercing siren woke him up to the putrid reality that was his life. "Punks," Cobb said. He rubbed his eyes and peered over the edge of the roof, following the sounds that led his line of sight to the Shop n' Shop. A black-haired punk ass bitch was skulking down the street, away from the scene of whatever petty crime had just taken place. This punky bitch character looks awfully suspicious, Cobb mused. Images from Pick the Perp flashed before his eyes. Prostitution? Armed robbery? Parole violation? These were equally horrendous possibilities, and Cobb had a hunch that this girl might have committed every one of them.

Disaster Strikes

"Yowza!" Cobb yelped. He frantically dug through the balls, trying to find the culprit, but it was impossible to see anything. Taking a deep breath, Cobb dove head-first into the pit. Down, down down, he thrashed. Down, down, down, down, down....down, down, down.... and down, and down. The pit was bottomless! He was able to breathe, but just barely, and only from the small pockets of air that grew farther and farther apart as he pushed himself deeper and deeper into the pit. Cobb could barely see anything, and was about to give up and head back when the balls beneath him gave way, and he fell into thin air. It was liberating, this experience of free falling. Cobb was momentarily startled, but the cool air whistling past him was soothing, and he opened his mouth to lap it up like a dog sticking it's head out the window of a car.

WHUMP.

And the ground came up to meet him, and he found himself lying face-down on the sticky carpet of Robbie Bobbin's Sumptous Souvenirs Tent. If Cobb was a cartoon, three small birds would have fluttered in circles around his head as he stumbled to his feet. Then he smelled something burning and his animal instincts kicked in. Cobb sprinted out of the tent, and in the chaos that ensued he found himself holding hands with a Mexican. Cobb and the Mexican pushed through the panicked crowd. They were a team, they more than a team, they were One. When Cobb slipped in a puddle of alcohol, the Mexican helped him to his feet; when the Mexican was stomped on by the bearded woman, Cobb clawed her face and carried the Mexican on his back all the way to the front gates.

Fun with Carnies

As Gilbert's Carnival rolled into town, Watershed Heights drooled with an anticipation that rivaled only the visit of President Nixon twenty years earlier. Visions of cotton candy clouds, popcorn buckets miles deep and corn dogs the color of toasted gold floated in the dreams of every sleeping resident. Blanket Cobb was among the few who awoke with the taste of a bearded woman's kiss in his mouth. He hurried with his morning chores--tending to his bonsai usually took up a large chunk of the day, but he skipped the ancient blessings and ritualistic rituals, and was out the door by noon. There was a spring in his step as he made his way down Main Street, arriving at the gates of Gilbert's Carnival the same time as a bag lady who looked to be from the Old Country.

"Oy. Kushnik," he hissed. "Let me in front of you."

The one-eyed ticket vendor blinked, slowly.

The Kushnik spat on the ground in front of Blanket Cobb's left foot.

"I Spit on your Children," she cursed, then scuttled through the gates and was swallowed up by the crowd.

"How peculiar," Cobb thought to himself, but he was not worried. He had no children.

As Cobb explored the Carnival, he munched on a turkey-flavored Cotton Candy Puff. He listened to the buzz of the crowd, catching snippets of conversation. When he heard "ball pit," "ball pit," and "plastic balls in a pit" all in the same minute, he decided to visit the ball pit. After waiting in line for an hour, Cobb was admitted into a magical gypsy tent.

"SHOES OFF," shouted the Ball Pit Carnie.

Cobb slipped off his calfskin moccasins and entered the pit. Oh, what fun it was to be but a child, rolling around in a toxic cesspool of plastic balls, urine and mysterious, slithering objects! He giggled like a child. He slapped the plastic balls like an excited baby in a high chair. He let the pit hold him, caress him, carry him along like a stick in a stream. It was pure bliss. And then something bit him.