Carnival by the Sea

As the sun sets and the silver sliver of moon comes into view like the smile of the Cheshire Cat, the neon lights of the ferris wheel light up the pier, followed by the electric lamps of the boardwalk leading up to it. After five years of this dance, I know when to stay at anchor. I crack open a bottle of cheap ale I picked up in El Sauzel to watch and wait. Legend has it there’s a specific day of the year that this particular event takes place, but the legends are wrong. The moon is the key. It’s almost poetic, the silver smile of an idiot god watching as a bunch of drunken tourists on a pier in Santa Monica unwittingly sacrifice pieces of their souls to the carnival. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made my pact so I’m not judging either side. I just sit and wait to collect for ol’ Az. The lights get brighter and the laughs of the crowds get louder and I attempt to get drunk with my legs hanging over the bow. A chunky splash indicates the first collection of the night. Followed by a second a minute or two later. I down the rest of the beer, sediment and all, before hoisting myself up to get the motor running. More splashes as the engine turns over and I put her in gear. I steer with my left hand as I reach down with the net in my right, scooping up each orb that contains a sliver of a human soul.

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