TIM BOUCHER RAW!

He was a large man, red of face, wearing a suit, but sweaty as the day was hot.

“I thought I was the only gangster here,” he said.

Don’t remember how I found this place. Some sort of train, coming back from somewhere else. I want to say family members were involved. I saw off to the right side of the train tigers circling. Big cats. We disembarked and walked through quickly, mostly through back areas, as if by impulse.

Many old wooden walkways painted a dull blue color, rickety ramps, rides. Children walking around in a daze, it reminded me of being a child, the joy I felt around animals.

“I spend all day with my animals – in Caledonia – and then come up here,” to take care of business, presumably. He ushered us along absently.

I had my shirt off at some point in the hot sun. A black band was around my upper right arm, a tattoo. My body seemed older, different, sagging. We walked backwards through the place, towards the entrance. Near it was a tiny room, an alcove filled with costumes, sparkling, feathers. I stopped and lingered, looking at them as if in a trance. Someone urged me to come along.

“I’ve spent the last two years working in theatre,” I told the man when he came back from wherever he’d been.

“It’s all the same,” he said. “We might as well start rolling the money into big balls right now!” he exclaimed, bypassing a seated woman in costume, reaching into another nook to pull out a box full of money, measuring it mentally, calculating how much must be in there, but putting it back without actually looking inside.

I took this to mean that I was hired.

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