LLOYD GOES TO THE FAIR

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He waits for it all year.  Those twelve days.

 

Heaven in a deep fryer, washed down by a warm beer in a Solo cup.  

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He doesn't bother getting there early, part of the joy is sweating in line - shoulder to sticky shoulder - for that corn dog.  

 

His eyes glaze over at first site of his favorite joint - tattered but standing proud behind it's annual fresh coat of paint.

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And finally he's at the window. Ketchup? Mustard? Relish? One? Two so he doesn't have to stand in line again?  

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Go for it all.  It's only once a year. Don't tell anyone you saw him three days in a row.

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008          9 x 8 x 10"