We spent our summer vacations at the beach. There were carnival rides at the end of the boardwalk, back behind Marty’s Playland. At night we skulked around in the blinking electric light with fistfuls of tickets, crushing peanut shells and cardboard cotton candy centers under our flip flops as we weighed our options.
The Matterhorn stood in a corner near the road. We waited in a crooked line for the ride to stop turning. I always sat on the outside because I was bigger than just about everyone. As the ride picked up speed, the operator would shout into the microphone. “Do you want to go FASTER!?” And we’d all scream.