Trapped

We near the entrance. Music clangs, carriages drag mothers, balloons clutch kids. A mob. My chest feels hollow. I can’t go in. “Uh! Chavs. Maybe we can come ba—”

Her eyes pop, mouth hangs open like a wailing tiger.

“Uh, let’s wait for the way to clear.” Except that more and more foot traffic swallows us, hair and furs chaff my face. All my leg muscles urge me to push the line to get inside, get to any clearing fast, but it’s a fight to inch in slowly. Finally we’re in, and my jaw tightens. Towering shelves filled with goodies. What seems like hundreds of girls reaching, dropping, laughing. There’s no space where I won’t get brushed against or breathed on or worse, trapped.

High on some makeshift stage, tambourines crash, men in red vests thunder a high pitch. Who needs all this? Not me. I need to get out of this tight place now.