It was a hot, trashy day at the fair. The kind of hot that leaves you with a headache. A concrete, sugary, carbonated hot that burns your skin and dulls your mind. Across a few weeks the fair manages, at best, a sticky, dirty version of its opening day polish: trash everywhere; cables hanging loose where they were once taut. The eyes of its visitors vacant and tired, their skin tight and clammy from soda and pizza.

The fair is aimed at the young (I believe), and for this audience the facade remains barely intact . I walked past a talent show. Let's get this hashtag going. I walked by the Euroslide, its hot plastic squeaking against the skin of youngsters not covered by the rubber mat. The tilt-a-whirl goes up and around, through the day and into the night. The occasional scream. Laughter and tears mixing together. Happy or sad, this all becomes part of people's memories. Happy, or sad, a hot, trashy day at the fair will stick with you for a very long time.