Is it fair? (From Starphyre's Journal)

I enter through the giant arch, displaying proudly what the name of this place is; The Fair.
I smell greasy food, foul body odor and beer breath. The sun is hot against my face, it peirces through my clothes; I feel as if my flesh is burning. The dirt is yellow, baking yellow under the yellow sun; its dry and dusty and devoid of life.
The dirt kicks up as crowds of people walk, clouds of yellow dirt billows up into the sky. I feel lost among the hulking machines, the stale smelling food stalls, the flashy colors and gimmicks, all disguising the threadbare remnants of dignity holding this place together. I know who they are, the ones who run the Farris Wheel, who pull the levers and gears, who grease the cogs and spit up dirt and blood from angels dust. The ones who run the show, who rig the games and laugh all the same. They have tattered clothes, and hollow eyes, missing teeth and flashy devices. They hide secrets, dirty tricks and dreams they'll never have. They are like all of us, just trying to get by.
They run the show, we are the guests to be entertained. Is it all what it seems? The spinning machines, the spider crawling up into the sky, the deadmans drop, and the mini train ride? Is it all fun and games, bright colors and butterflies in your stomach? I wonder this, as I show my ticket, and climb on board the rollercoaster ride. The man in the red jumpsuit powering the monster, smiles a crooked grin, I know his sins he hides inside.
I strap myself into the cart; and feel the cold metal bars press against my chest, the hard plastic seat bruise my butt. The red jumpsuit man pulls his lever, and I feel the rumble begin beneath me. The monster awakens with a stutter, a purr, and a roar. I hold myself tight, I know this ride isn't going to be what I expect, what I came for. The cart begins to slowly move forward, slowly gaining momentum. I feel the pressure building in the air, as the other passengers prepare for the rush.
Up the carts roll, higher and higher, anticipation clinging to me like the sweat pouring down my chest. And finally, it begins its drop. Its all a blur of adrenaline, screaming faces and my stomach jumping into my throat, it rattles me and pushes me back so hard against the plastic seat I feel I might break. I can't breath or move, just let it take me and feel the wind slice my skin, and sting like hot fire. And then its over. I'm sitting in the cart, my stomach in knots, my hair windblown into tangles, and the red jumpsuit man motions for me to get out. There's a line already forming. More people looking for a rush they can't find in life, looking for something safe to shake up their worlds so they can walk away, back to routine, back to simplicity, life without mystery.