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“I can’t say I’m loving this.”
Goodnight shucked his jacket off, and started rolling up his sleeves.
Their booth at the newly created Yarn-A-Palooza Crafters’ Fair was located on the inner most loop of an ever expanding swirl of loops, each circle bringing a line of booths closer to the wall.
Goodnight had originally thought this was a great set up for the spacious community center where the fair was being held. That was before all the ticket holders showed up.
“I am sweating like a whore in church,” Goodnight said. “I feel like we like we set up shop in the last circle of Hell.”
Before the crowd had ballooned in size and made it impossible to see anything beyond the trudging mass of humanity directly under his nose, Goodnight had been able to see the rows and rows of crafters booths set up for the day. An army of folks selling yarn, thread, fabric, clay, wood, and metals. An even bigger group was outside showing off what art could be spun from those raw materials.
“The last circle of Hell was cold,” Billy said. “Full of ice.”
Billy had been rage crocheting the entire morning, and so now there was about 5 feet of rainbow yarn worked into a leafhopper cluster stitch trailing over his lap and pooling onto the flood.
“I wish we had ice.” He paused, put his needle down, and then grabbed the hem of his t-shirt. “Fuck it. I’m taking this off.”
“Well, you know I won’t be complaining about that,” Goody said with a grin.
Someone in the crowd wolf whistled. Another yelled,” Do you really think that’s appropriate?”
Goodnight flipped them off.
“There’s too many people here,” Billy said, words muffled by the fabric over his face. “Why are there so many people here?”
“I imagine it’s because the assholes in charge over sold the event.”
“And screwed us out of lunch!” Billy said. He gave the shirt fabric around his head a sharp pull. It did not move. “We were supposed to get lunch! Did you see lunch? Smell lunch? Hear about the location of a lunch?”
Goodnight moved forward. “Sugar, you got yourself all twisted up. Let me help.”
“No ice!” Billy groaned. “No lunch! We’ve sold nothing, and I’m stuck in my shirt!”
“I did tell you to stop buying them a size too small.”
“I like them tight!”
Billy’s head popped out, and Goody balled-up the sweat-soaked fabric before tossing under the table.
“Well one good thing came out of this. Looks like your scarf is done.”
“It’s not a scarf,” Billy said, his tone low and dangerous. “Not anymore. It’s a hang man’s noose.”
Goodnight whistled. Impressed. “Well damn. That is the prettiest death rope I have ever seen. Whose neck would you like to see fill it?”
Billy nodded to the banner hanging over the entrance: Welcome to Yarn-A-Palooza! Brought to you by Bartholomew Bogue Incorporated.”