In retrospect, he was almost neanderthal – the underbite, the spiked hair, the squint.
But he rode the Waltzers majestically, spinning them hard to make the girls scream, leaping monkey-like from one car to another, muscles bursting through his lumberjack shirt.
Light-bulbs flickered wildly, the Shirelles pleaded for constancy, and Del Shannon lamented his errant girlfriend whilst Annabel’s newly-acquired hormones raged uncontrollably.
The Fair was leaving tomorrow, and she would do anything for him tonight… anything.
Not realising this was, inadvertently, the kindest thing he would ever do.
Other guys would not be so remiss in the future, sadly.
For the younger Friday Fictioneers, or the older ones who’d like a touch of nostalgia, I’ve included the relevant links to the songs in the story. For non-Brits, the Waltzers are a flat fairground ride with cars seating 3/4 people on a circular spinning base. My breakfast stirs uneasily at the memory. Thanks again to Rochelle, the mistress of the 100 word story and leader of our happy band of writers.