"As children were inside, a heavy gust of wind blew across the field, raising them off the
ground and sending them airborne," he said. "Once they hit the ground, they began rolling
and struck several people on the ground."
Lara Rhatigan said she was about to enter a ride when her neck got hooked by a rope
connected to a bounce house. "It felt like someone was grabbing my neck and they were
dragging me."
Her mother was getting hot dogs at the time, and turned around to see the houses
floating away.
At that moment there approached the two a reeling man in strange garments. His head
was a fuddle of bushy hair and whiskers from which his eyes peered with a guilty slant. In a
close scrutiny it was possible to distinguish the cruel lines of a mouth, which looked as if its lips
had just closed with satisfaction over some tender and piteous morsel. He appeared like an
assassin steeped in crimes performed awkwardly. . . .
That’s too rich, for me.
The young man shook his head dolefully. “Where’s the path between my memory of an
experience and the way I (will (?)) (hope to have) render it in poetry?”
Andrew Levy, June 2011
