THE STREET FAIR

   THE STREET FAIR

The street fair was a potpourri of aromas. Tangy barbeque sauce and grilled meat cooking over the coals were the most pungent of the smells that assaulted the nostrils so deliciously. One could almost taste the meat without even taking a bite. The next smell to tickle one's nose was that of popcorn; it was like walking into a theater, rich melted butter, and mouth-watering hot kernels. Level three to hit one’s nasal passages was a little harder to assess,  it was very …interesting, and it was slightly reminiscent of…wet dog?

A street barker stood near the main entrance twirling a baton with one hand and holding a kazoo with the other. In a loud voice, he invited the incoming visitors to partake in the numerous activities of the fair.  The baton was a rainbow-coloured one that omitted a whirring noise, the faster the barker twirled it, the faster the whirling noise became. Between each activity that was announced, he blew on his kazoo. The irritating buzz grated on the nerves but it was all part of the fun at a street fair and several young children with their painted faces, gathered at his feet laughing and clapping loudly each time he blew his instrument. He indulged their delight at the end of his spiel and hummed them a popular children's song on the kazoo.

The street was a riot of colour, vibrant booths lined each side. Bright blue and white striped sunshades seemed to be the pattern of choice though the secondary choice seemed to be a bright cheery red, followed by a sunny yellow.

    The hotdog vendor appeared to be doing a brisk business at his gut truck, the smell of his barbequed meat wafted in the slight breeze that accompanied the day and it was one meant to make all the crowd salivate and join the hungry line.

   The little old couple who were selling honey had several trays of crackers topped with various types of honey that their bees produced. Raw honey, clover honey, buckwheat honey, creamed honey, and wildflower honey. A veritable feast for the honey connoisseur.  The trays quickly emptied as the eager and hungry crowds felt the thick, sticky topping wet their appetite. The smiling gentleman had his hands full making change and passing jars of honey over the makeshift counter. Children consumed their treat and licked their sticky fingers with delight. Then moved down to the next stall.

     It was a stall with a multitude of different styles of popcorn. The freshly kettled corn released the toasted smell as the sugars in the corn erupted when the kernel popped. The flavours of caramel, ranch, salted chocolate, brown sugar and cinnamon, spicy dill pickle, s’mores, taco, salt and vinegar, only enhanced the aroma.  It was a never-ending variety to entice the pallet of the diverse crowd.  A  virtual smorgasbord. Busy salty fingers tasted and purchased the plump kernels.

 Across the street, hawkers called out their wares and in the kitchen stall they banged their pots and pans together creating an awful din, while the jeweler gently rattled some chains together to draw attention to her products. It was a cacophony to the hyped-up crowds. One could also hear the sounds of laughter coming from the beer tent a little ways down on a sidestreet. Everyone there seemed to be amused by something in the tent and patrons could be heard calling out to those passing by.

    A llama minced down the street, led by a young man with a long leash attached to the animal's halter. The llama was a golden honey colour, with thick curling fur on top of its head which looked like someone had recently rumpled its golden locks. It turned its head this way and that, checking out the comings and going of the street fair. It had a better-than-average view of the proceedings with its long elegant neck. So far, the llama did not look impressed.

    A young busker stood near the corner of the closed intersection. She stood tall and confident as she poured her heart out in song. The rich familiar melody floated through the air mingling with the smell of barbeque hotdogs, and toasted popcorn, and ah, there it was, the source of the interesting smell, one not-so-recently-bathed llama.

The boy with the llama paused to listen to the music, the llama pulled on its halter, taking steps closer to the young chanteuse. It stepped closer until it was only a few steps away, and seemed to look the busker in the eye. She eyed the llama boldly back as if challenging it to let go of that nasty green spit that many llamas are so popular for releasing into the faces of their foes or those whom they considered inferior or when expressing their displeasure. The expectorate, however, was not forthcoming, and soon the llama’s head seemed to bob ever so slightly to the beat.  The threat of an imminent spittle attack seemed safely in check and in cheek, so the singer renewed her musical vitality, and released her death grip on the microphone stand. She now focused fully on her song, cognisant that she had made a furry but faithful fan for life. This fact became further evident when the songster finished her song heralded by a round of applause from the lingering crowd. As she took a swift drink from her water bottle, several people started to drift away. 

         One of those not inclined to linger was the young lad with the llama, however, the llama clearly had a different agenda and when its leash was tugged, it pulled strongly in the opposite direction and stubbornly stood its ground. As a new song commenced, the llama took several steps forward taking the lad slightly off guard and pulling him clumsily sideways.

The llama was so close now that the busker actually reached out and touched its, oh so soft neck. The llama responded by leaning into the hand. Without skipping a beat she lovingly stroked its long silky neck, felt the swirling hair patterns, and drank in the llama's pungent but not unpleasant odor. She listened to the slight humming that it created in its throat, a sound not unsimilar to the purring of a contented cat. She wondered if the llama was content or just trying to sing along with her in its own fascinating way. The hum was eerily in tempo with her and the volume was rising as if the llama had found confidence in performing. She moved the mike closer to the llama during the instrumental segment to better hear the hum. The crowd was building now, drawn by the connection between the girl and the llama. The lad’s mouth hung loosely in an “oh” position, his eyes bright and round.

The busker and the llama crooned on, creating an almost mind meld of human and animal. It seemed to anticipate when the pitch would change and when the dynamics would evolve, and follow suit. She knew huskies liked to sing with their humans but never in her wildest imagination had she ever thought that she would perform a duet with a llama. Perhaps the repeated verses had been quickly learned by the llama or somehow mysteriously passed from one to another. Perhaps it was a simple case of extra-sensory perception, clairvoyance, or telepathy.  Whatever the case, it made for a mesmerizing performance. The singer's hand continued to caress the throat of the llama, feeling the pulse, feeling the vibrations in the animal's vocal cords, hearing the haunting vibrato but most of all, experiencing the sixth sense, the mysterious and maybe miraculous connection between the species at a humble street fair.