The Humble Derby
Ryan Everett Felton
Tammy Reuben’s cowboy hat was too big for her head, but to her mind this had a slimming effect and so she kept it on – although it impeded her vision while exploring the fairgrounds. Half-blinded, she bumped into a dozen folks on her way to the event tents. So friendly were the denizens of Humble that both parties apologized in each instance, usually to the point of profusion.
“‘Scuse me. Sorry!” she said, knocking a man’s plate of funnel cake out of his hand. He echoed her sentiment, but by then she was pushing through the ensuing powdered sugar cloud. She crossed into a large candy-striped tent and edged her way to the front of a small mob. It was hot, a scorching Texas summer morning, and none present could deny their contribution to the stink of the tent interior. Waist-high metal fencing cordoned off the center of the space, where a wooden mini-maze had been erected. Above this set-up flapped a banner with the spray-painted message:
13th ANNUAL HUMBLE DERBY
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