The whole thing was a Whirlwind. Literally, that was the name of the fabulous traveling amusement ride she so deftly operated.

Sometimes the energies of the heavens are in complete synchronicity, and a bolt of lightning can change your trajectory. There was an actual graphic of a bolt of lightning on the side of the structure, you see, and it was the bad-assedness of this bolt that I commented on before she picked the ticket from my fingers, spit into her cup, and engaged that crooked smile. “Wanna party?” she slyly said.

“Don’t ask twice,” was my response.

And into the gorgeous August night, we swept, first dashing to the shooting gallery to claim the stuffed Minion that was my marksman’s prize to behold and gift to the new apple of my eye. Aboard the Ferris wheel, we shared a blunt, hovering over the shrieks and bells that beckoned the unbridled impulses. Off to the Giant Zipper, where the twists and spins made us drunk with the lust of maniacal whimsy.

In the wee hours of the crisp morning, the shocks of the third wheel squeaked back and forth like a rocking chair on a creaky front porch.

And then off she went into the sunrise, down that lonesome dusty road to the next Walmart parking lot several miles from some random main street. She would impress a new crowd in a forgotten town where the tumbleweeds saunter in the footsteps of John Steinbeck. The lonely romantic life isn’t for everyone, I thought, and I may never forget her precious companion Muffy in her torn Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt, bravely battling that pesky case of mange.

I think of Travolta in the movie Grease as the summer sun fades south, my curious eyes gleaning for some explanation on the peaks and valleys of life’s rockin’ roller coaster.

“Wonder what…she’s doin’ now…”