A prophet’s aggregate

The carnival’s set up in the middle of town, or at the mall dependant on what you decide is more central. And the carnies make wishes come true. One boy with an airgun cut a hole the shape of the blessed virgin mother of god out of paper. The pellets he used were handed round church the next Sunday; they fetched a good penny. That boy was a dreamer though, his cardboard hat gave him away. And the gun was only his hand, held up like a weapon. People milled about him anyway asking for favors. All he could do was try to oblige. He half-tipped his hat, fingers light on the brim.

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