Freedom? I smile, listening to him talk to one of the local vendors."It's the freedom,man.", he says.,with that far off look.His eyes take on a glow as he talks of distant places,and not being tied down.... An old school veteran of the road, he's seen thousands of slough nights and would be hard pressed to recall the name of the last town we played. No forty miler him. He has a nine o'clock work call most mornings and if there's nothing else to do they'll give him some paint and the fences will get another coat. He'll run the Ferris Wheel from open to close with maybe a fifteen minute break once or twice. When the lights go down he'll head for the office trailer and collect his ten dollar draw. With luck it will stretch to cover a meal and some smokes,and maybe a bit of beer. If he's real lucky come payday the boss will actually hand him what remains of his wages after the draws come out, if not,he'll wait until the next good spot for times to be better. It's always gonna be better down the road somewhere. It's the illusion that keeps us going. If he gets tired of the BS on this little rag tag show he's free to go find another. A change of scenery does wonders, but he's a ride foreman here with a sleeper to call his home...so he'll probably stick for the season at least. When the show closes,and it's time to tear down he'll work like a dog through the night and be off to do it all over again somewhere else with little time for sleep. Eight hundred miles further on he's setting up, busting knuckles and manhandling pig iron. When it's all done,he'll plunk down greasy and tired on the steps of a ride just in time for some townie and his girl to walk by. "Look at that dirty, lazy carnie."they'll say. No matter...this is the life he's chosen and he wouldn't trade places with anyone. That's as close to freedom as most of us ever get. His voices trails off....it's not a concept that words are really adequate to explain. What's freedom to one would be bondage to another.