The sea pressed itself against the edge of the fair. It's salt hung in the air, threading through the heat of halogen bulbs and fried snacks, clinging to bare arms and sweaty necks. The ground shifted, the music cracked, a shadow danced across the tarpaulin. It wasn't joy exactly, or fear. The night moved too fast and too slow. Folded into the pulse of a night that burned fast, until there was only motion, color, heat and then nothing held still.