The Person I'm Next Is Pretty Far Away

I'm next to an old man. Geographically speaking its more like I'm in ear shot of this old man, but we shared a moment where our brains were next to each other. I'm at a fair, a Strawberry Festival. Although this Strawberry Festival is only a Strawberry Festival the way a Flea Market is a Flea Market. There are no fleas, and everyone is selling junk. But at this sadly Strawberryless Festival the junk is fun to look at, so it is an enjoyable adventure. The old man is selling fried cheese on a stick and its meaty twin the corndog.
He is old. Old. Wrinkled and worn, the rigors of the grease trade have not been kind to his complexion. His eyes are tilted down at the outside, lending him a sad look, I mean he looks really down. I mention this to the person next to me and she agrees. As she agrees the old man looks right at me.
He nods.
It is a friendly nod, I'm sure he is just offering up some polite body language, maybe hoping to charm me into buying something battered and on a stick, but for a second it was bizarrely like he was agreeing with me. Its like when you are parking a car in a lot and the car next to you starts to back out and you think you are still going forward for half a moment. In this moment I thought this guy was telling me, Yep I'm sad. Yep, I hate these goddamn florescent lights, and this goddamn overheated trailer and goddamn fried things.
Who knows though, maybe he loves his life on the road, everywhere he goes its rickety rides, and light bulb hums. Maybe he loves the odd power of selling fried food. Knowing everyone who buys from him both excited and terrified of their meal. Listening to them saying how they really shouldn't, but what the hell, _____fest is only once a year. I could see that being a good life.
I didn't buy any fried cheese or corn dogs though.

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