Chris was a lanky boy of some twenty-two years of age. His sandy blonde hair constantly threatened to obscure his vision lest it be pushed back behind his ears or
to the sides of the wire-rim glasses framing his striking blue eyes. By fate or by something more malevolent, he came to be standing outside the Pleasure Island
Midnight Carnival with a showbill in his hand, staring up at the lights and rides and tent-tops overhead with a hushed awe. It beckoned him onwards into the
carnival grounds, promising hours of entertainment.. of fun.
Standing at the twin entry posts, Chris decided.