The inside of the tent smelled faintly of fabric treatment and plastic, probably from the tarps rolled to the side, blocking the bottom so rain didn't seep in from outside. Her eyes adjusted to the dark as Rory went ahead and gave the clear.
Outside, it was dusk- a Midwestern dusk, the kind she knew from her childhood. Pinks and purples painted the sky, and the summer humidity still lingered in the air. There was a small crowd milling about the midway, lined with strings of thick yellow carnival lights. There were game tents and aluminum trailers parked on tires with neon signs, selling the usual corndogs, nachos, lemon shake-ups and funnel cakes.
Claire lingered a little, taking in the sight. Damned if she didn't feel a hard twist of nostalgia. Or that could have been the smell of gasoline from the foodtruck generators.
"So. What do you want to do first?" she asked him, pushing her hands in her back pockets.