Virtuous Carney

Seeing as I have an assignment for another class to write about an experience of mine, I might as well draft here. Edit it later.He couldn't stop touching himself, and whenever the girls passed I watched him rub his obscenely large stomach and crane to watch their swaying ass go by. I was there sure, But I'm not the focus of this tale, Neither was he really. Ok well maybe he was, I'm not sure. I was only a bystander, one of many in the passing throngs of crowded together bodies. I simply watched. And here I'll tell you what I saw, it is for you to decide what I saw, because it is that what that this is about. Was this pervert and swindler, this immoral vagabond a corrupter of youth? Or was he a virtuous soul among the world of the traveling dead? I merely saw. You listen.So there he was. He was sort of standing in his booth mostly leaning there. Whistling to himself at every girl who passed, they were all young, and most of them were not pretty but what matter to him? He was a traveling Carney and getting lucky was one of the few pleasures of the job. A new stop a new girl, and if he flattered enough of them eventually someone would play his game. All he could gain from it was cash and all it would cost him 's a few lies. He was a charmer, a swindler, a con, a bastard, shallow and callous. Not that he liked to be or really was that way, it was his job-description. And it was a mask he wore well. The children liked him for his boisterous laughter, the girls liked him for his smile, his breath and his charm, the guys liked him for his women and his hard edge. Even the grand-parents liked him, he had a sweet and honest smile and would often give them free games and good conversations. But he knew how to work that crowd, at least so it seemed because they kept coming back year after year after year. He was even invited to the funerals. Such is the life, when you're such the charmer and so liked, you bear the burden. So it goes...The child, this one in particular, he was passing by with his parents. You know the type, they are never there for the kid, don't pay attention to him, send him off the school in the morning, sit him in front of the TV in the evening feed him and put him to bed at night. Routine parents. Uncaring, inattentive, lacking compassion and most of all missing out on their child. Yeah we all know the type. Bastards...Trying to buy their child's love and seem affectionate they broke the routine and brought him to the big annual Fair. You could see it in the child's eyes, this was a severe digression from the normal routine, and he loved it, starved for attention, a smile from our swindler beckoned the boy in. On the first pass of the booth those shameful half-parents guilted themselves into allowing Jack to play. Jack was the boy you know.And at two hits for a dollar, the parents bought one of the many pardons they sold themselves that night.First shot, I suppose you should understand the game - it operates off a catapult theory, sent that projectile straight to the ground. Rubber a catapult and a mallet in the hands of an eight year old amounted to six inches of lift and distance. No good. After all, to win one needed timing as well as a good six feet. Simple for an eight year old with the affinity or at least and interest in learning and trying.He knew this boy was one of the lost generation, after years of working the crowds over he could tell these things now without even talking to people. So he talked to Jack, Jack needed the attention, he was a growing boy....Second shot straight to the ground"Jack m'boy another shot for the heck of it, you're a sweet boy" (the parents winced at their own faultiness and shame)and try three followed the first two in suit."How 'bout I give you a fourth free shot, that's like having had a whole game for free... How's that sound?""Sure! Please!" well mannered Jack was for having not been raised."Thing is, if I give you the shot you have to do it my way ok?""ok"And truth be told that man walked the kid through step by step how to win that game. For a Carney to tell his secrets is not the amazing part of this tale I assure you, it's what happed in the process that makes one question our intuitive little con's motives. Was it worth it, did he know what he was doing? Of course he did, but the real question to ask, to answer, to think about is "why?""Now Jack, stand just so far back, swing straight up over your head, when you do swing to hit don't forget to keep looking at the target and lean forward, but here's the thing... You see that target?""Uh-huh" he said mallet poised in the air, attention starved eyes burning holes through the big man with the big belly."Is there anyone who bully's you at school, anyone who picks on you, makes you feel bad, anyone who doesn't like you who you don't like?" It was a sight to see; literally watching the light-bulb go off in boys head and at that sight: "Them, Imaging for me, if you will, their face right there on that target. And hit 'em one good one just for me."Glancing at the parents our con shifted hesitantly at the implications of corrupting a under-value-nourished child. The parents didn't seem disturbed by it, they knew something about what he watched on TV at home and the simply watched as their son brought down that mallet for the fourth time... and sent that rubber object catapulting twenty feet across the table. Astonished, ashamed, amazed the parents with looks of embarrassment and hurt stared at their child, then at each other. Jack thanked him for the game and was praised for having such a good athletic set of arms on him. They both put their arm around that boy probably for the first time in his memory and as they walked away the did something our shallow charmer knew would happen or he wouldn’t have given away that game to that child for free, they talked to little Jack and were for once, concerned about what was going on with him. Our Carney smiled, shifted his attention to the next swaying ass to go by and called to the crowd for another pocket to open.