Anti Matterhorn

In the waning hours of its final night the carnival ceases to exist on its own. It is Sunday night and despite a hard close at 11 o’clock the people migrate away from the flashing lights and the color of the event into the surrounding darkness prior to deadline. This leaves an unsettling feeling that the festival is dying a premature death. The band’s energy from the corner of the park no longer pulses through the crowd. It now blares over the drone of the whirring rides and fewer, lesser voices. The rides grow more and more vacant. People pass them as if the fun has washed away. The Matterhorn no longer matters.
Anti Matterhorn
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