So here I sit, the dawn creeping in the window of my hotel room, contemplating.
The end of the season is a confusing time.
Time moves differently in the Carny bubble, it's more compressed, you live a lot in a short period where the pace of life is so much faster
The people that come to the Carnival seem to be going in slow motion, we're speeding along, always rushing, fitting a life into so many half hour breaks a day, a trip to the bathroom is a fucking excursion.
Suddenly the end comes, we're thrust into the normal world again and it seems as if everything comes to a stop, but it's only going slower, the mind is still rushing but the body has no where to go.
In the old days I was drunk for a month afterward, alone, talking to my self in a hotel room, who the fuck was I talking to?