backforthmenu Carnival. I’m waiting at the light on Lomita Blvd. at Arlington. Not more than 50 feet away is a Ferris wheel. I notice all the kids on bikes swarming about. It’s the first week of summer, a Friday afternoon and the annual carnival has commanded the main drag in town... I transport back to my childhood for an instant, riding bikes, holding tickets, laughing... Crossing the street before me is a kid with a small head, bad white hair and the posture of an old man. He is barefoot and using his heels to power a 20” girl’s bicycle. On the opposite side of the intersection—debating whether or not to cross on the blinking sign—are two 12 year-old girls, also on bikes, in brightly colored helmets. The boy reaches the curb where the girls have decided to wait. I cannot see the boy’s face at this point, but the girl’s faces are wide-eyed with a twinge of disgust on their pursed lips. He pedals past. The girls look at each other, years of prepubescent friendship in their knowing laughs. They cross after all, the carnival awaits. 6/26/98