The carnival shimmered in the golden afternoon light, its colors louder than the barkers’ voices. The air smelled of fried dough, spun sugar, and something faintly metallic beneath it all. The balloon dart booth buzzed with laughter and chatter, prizes dangling in rows like trophies---stuffed animals, neon trinkets, garish inflatable hammers.

At the front of the booth stood a woman. Nearly sixty, with a curvy, matronly figure that her breezy geometric-patterned skirt and teal blouse couldn’t quite disguise. A straw hat shaded her face, strands of light brown curls peeking out, and beaded jewelry clicked softly as she shifted her small crossbody bag against her hip.

She raised a dart, then lowered it again with a shaky hand. Her lips curved into a nervous smile as she spotted a young man passing by---jeans, gray graphic T-shirt, easy stride.

“Excuse me, dear,” she called gently. “Would you help me? I want to win a prize for my grandson. My hands... they aren’t what they used to be.”

The man hesitated, but something in her pleading tone tugged at him. “Uh, sure.”

She thanked him warmly and pressed the darts into his hand. The carnie grinned with too many teeth. “Three in a row, pal. That’s the only way to win.”