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The wheel starts again in earnest--each car has been quickly emptied, raucously filled, and now the waiting is finished.

We swing over the top, rising on the crest of the horizon for a moment, drinking in the fast whirling of the universe. Then we swing under the belly. The green paint of the entrance way meets us, shows us through, releases us, welcomes us again.

The asphalt below is no longer sticky with people, but a smooth sheer blackness that invites us and repels us.

I want, suddenly, to undo the safety harness and step out onto the ledge. I want my feet to slip on the metallic shiny sleekness and fall into the never ending black. I do not think about the people who will look in horror after the deed is done. I do not think about you.

I want this ride to end only in the comfort of the nonending black asphalt down there. I want only to end everything in the death finding safety of the whirling black.

I finger the strap. Your hand restrains me.

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