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We go around one final time, waiting our turn as the attendant follows an arcane pattern to let people off. When we jerk to a stop for a moment, you set the car swinging again. You signal the attendant, who pays no attention to you whatsoever. Slowly, your hand tightens on my shoulder.

The wheel stops with a final thud. I could almost, but not quite, touch the ground if I tried. The car jerks to a halt and I watch the steel ropes sliding under the wheels. Wonder how they support our weight. How anything supports anything.

A bored boy in a tattered Marilyn Manson t-shirt undoes the latch and lets us out. You climb out first, your long legs holding the car steady for me.

As you offer me your hand, I tell you yes. You lean down to me.

What? you ask.

Yes, I say. Let's get married. Let's be a part of each other forever.

This, I think, is reality