Something Wicked This Way Comes (Green Town, #2)

by Ray Bradbury

I’ll be damned if death wears my sadness for glad rags.

Today was just another day in October in a year suddenly better than anyone supposed it could ever be just a short hour ago, with the moon and the stars moving in a grand rotation toward inevitable dawn, and them loping, and the last of this night’s weeping done, and Will laughing and singing and Jim giving answer line by line, as they breasted the waves of dry stubble toward a town where they might live another few years across from each other.

Part of me is still on that hideous carousel when I was four. I seem never to have found a way to get off.