AT THE SAME TIME
ISABELLA
Somehow, against every law of narrative tension and common sense, we ended up normal. That realization hit me as we finally escaped the prize tents and stumbled into the food zone of the festival. Long wooden tables, striped awnings, people sitting shoulder to shoulder with paper trays piled high. The smell of fried dough, grilled meat, sugar, and something aggressively garlicky hung in the air.
