Ten minutes before the spectacle, roustabouts – who could be paying men, except for the scent of exotic shit clinging to them – pull caps low over grimy brows, dig rope-raw palms deep into their pockets and begin their subtle herding. Shoulder and elbow, bump and mumble, women and men don’t even notice they’re being funnelled along the midway.
Barkers knot and toss the lariat: long strand of story, perfect arc of mystery, clinch of promise. Tug in audience and hold it rapt. And the whores, after the last show lets out, dig in their spurs, holler as they ride and ride.
Everyone here a cowboy but me.
3 comments:
Want more of this! Love "scent of exotic shit" and really like the lariat metaphor.
By "paying men" do you mean paying customers? I thought that was probably it, but somehow the wording made me a little unsure.
The cowboy metaphors do work very well.
Nice!
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