A narrow path winds between the darkened attractions, leading you toward a row of faded tents. One of them stands slightly open.

Inside, a dressing room sits untouched beneath a string of dusty bulbs. Costumes hang from rusted hooks. Names are scrawled beside old mirrors.

And along the far wall, a collection of clown masks stares back at you.

You step inside. Behind you, the tent flap falls closed.