I remember my grandmother taking us to the local carnival when I was 6-years-old. The rides were typical - - a children's Ferris wheel, the Scrambler, and a tiny roller coaster. The shopping center parking lot smelled like grease, sweat and cotton candy. The people running the rides were the only people in America with tattoos.
As I hammered the nails, I screamed at Irene. With every gust of glass, I turned into Sigourney Weaver's character in Aliens, shouting, "Irene, you B*TCH!" Every blow from Irene met my hot flash of anger, and we sparred until l I had hammered 40 headless nails into that window frame without one miss.