There'a an image of a magnificent carousel in my mind with fascinating figures and incandescent lighting, which is repeatedly disturbed by a scratch in the organ music in the background.
Each time I see my own reflection in the moving glass mirrors, I feel weakened and fail to get hold of the brass rings on the horses.
I wouldn't mind missing it at all really. If only they would stop smiling; the kids and the lovers on the chariots, holding hands.
E.Y.
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