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Midway

July 8, 2009

She stood on the gravel under the Ferris wheel, the colored lights reflecting in her hair. Above her, couples held hands in the buckets, kissed much closer to the sky. She had just enough tickets in her pocket for a single ride.

For a moment, she looked up at the swaying cars, overwhelmed by the motion, the smell of funnel cake, the bead of sweat rolling down her spine, the thumping of the bass from the faster ride across the way.

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