Balloon Man

In between the salty pretzel cart and the neon frozen lemonade vendor, stands the balloon man pulling rubber taffy and blowing long sausages into anything you can dream of. His cheeks form two softballs. His deformed fingers twist a squeaky red tube, while elbows flap like the bird being born before our eyes. A yellow giraffe is next, followed by a blue dachshund. Then he ties two together with his teeth, head cocked to one side, as lookeeloos dip their sticky fingers into powdery plates of dough and honey. Their eyes are the size of eggs. What’s next, balloon man? A dolphin, a unicorn? “Whatever you wish,” he mutters from the corner of his mouth, his pinkies pointing outward like he’s holding a teacup at high noon. “How about a house? With a white picket fence? A nice boat to take out on weekends, and a 401(k) with 7% growth? Can you make a balloon filled with self-esteem, fulfillment, and joy?”