The Slide of Mirrors was a garish purple tube at the far end of the midway. No line. No attendant. Just a sign: "One rider at a time. No refunds."
And there, sitting on a bench, was the boy from the Polaroid. Older now, maybe thirty, with tired eyes and the same cowlick. joey 1997
Joey looked down. His hands were starting to fade, like old film left in the sun. The Slide of Mirrors was a garish purple