We knew something cool was going to happen before we even stepped into Fat Lenny’s. We knew it because it was called Fat Lenny’s, but also because of the life-sized human-cat mannequin.
Randy Gilson didn’t exactly step into a void when he bought a dilapidated old home in the Mexican War Streets and transformed it into Randyland.
It wasn’t dawn when we parked at the mouth of the abandoned turnpike, as I had hoped. It was after four in the afternoon. Also, it had started to rain.
I don’t know, maybe Parks Canada employees train alongside the Disney people or something. Because these folks are happy.
From behind the wheel the hood had a sexy hip-like curve, and the barest suggestion of speed was met with a throaty growl of impatience. Let’s go, let’s go.
There could be some good stories there, behind the tents. And then she mentioned, in passing, “that’s where the carny graveyard is.”