Styrofoam boxes squeak when they open.

If you sit under a tree in a small circle of shade on a hot day with a box from the Kiwanis it will probably have this inside:

Dark brown pieces of fried chicken and big overcooked French fries. And a box that squeaks.

You will rip open a couple of small tubes of ketchup for the potatoes and wish you had remembered napkins. You will probably use your socks instead.

The music from the carnival hums in the background as you blow your bangs out of your face between bites. In the distance car wheels crunch in the gravel parking lots and kids whine as they are led away from the cotton candy booths. Filled with the scent of fried oil and cigar smoke, the late afternoon air is heavy. Balloons that have eloped from strollers slide above tents, but are too lazy to head skyward.


You close the box up and stretch. Maybe you need to go try some Skeeball