Oscar and Selena had been arguing the whole way about the credibility of rumors concerning the farmer named Vance.
"Farmers!" Oscar retorted heatedly.
"And who else?" Selena teased, amused by the kid's agitation.
"Dunno… Farmers' mothers!"
"Probably their wives too?" she giggled, refusing to let up.
Their pointless bickering was cut short when I noticed something ahead—or rather, the lack of it.
"Where's the repair shop?" I interrupted.
"Are we even in the right place?" Oscar asked, glancing at Selena.
She slammed on the brakes. The three of us lurched forward before rebounding back into our seats.
I jumped out of the trailer and hurried toward the empty lot while Oscar checked if his nose was still intact.
The breeze carried scraps of colorful tinsel and candy wrappers across the empty lot, while the scent of popcorn and cotton candy lingered in the air.
An old Jeep drove past me, and an elderly man leaned out the window.
"The circus left, but you stayed behind?" he joked.
"What circus?" I asked.
"The traveling kind," the man replied, pointing two fingers at the barren field. "They put on quite a show here—ran for almost a month. The last three days? Absolute spectacle."
"And those illusionists!" An elderly woman popped her head out from the back window, giving me a friendly smile. "Unforgettable!"
"What did they look like, these illusionists?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"Father and son. Tall, long-haired gentlemen."
"I even won a pair of glasses from them!" the man announced proudly, holding them up.
Glenn's sunglasses gleamed mockingly in the sunlight, their gilded frames flashing—and in them, I caught my own reflection.
I turned away as the elderly couple hit the gas with a screech, leaving me standing in a cloud of dust.
The kid stood slightly behind Selena and stared at me in fear.
"You said you’ve known them for a long time," I hissed, turning to the girl and stepping closer.
"Yes," she answered curtly.
"Said you’d already fixed your van at their place."
"Yes, but listen, I’m bad with faces," the girl began. "Maybe it wasn’t them."
"I hope you’re not serious, Selena," I seethed. "Because I’m out of patience, and you—" I jabbed my finger at Oscar, who was pressing himself against her, "—I don’t know what you’re scheming or what you’ve dragged me into, but I’ve had enough."
"Constantin," Selena said, "I’m really sorry, I don’t know how this happened."
"We’ll fix it. Trust us," the kid replied.
Anger washed over me. I completely lost control and glared at the kid through the growing haze in front of my eyes. The word "trust" was already a red flag for me, especially coming from these two.
After blinking a couple more times, I found myself in a pub, leaning over a heavily drunk man, my fist raised above him.
"Has this happened before?" echoed in my head.
"Call the police!" someone shouted in the background.
"This guy’s completely lost it."
"He got hit too—that thug started it first!"
The voices of the unseen crowd blended with the sounds of broken glass and rock music. I looked at my bruised knuckles and back down. The man on the floor was gone.
My mind strained heavily, trying to show how I had gotten drunk from anxiety (but why?) in the pub and picked a fight with a stranger who had given me a sidelong glance. Apparently, I was also looking for an opponent—some way to unleash the negativity.
