“Hotdogs! Get your delicious hotdogs here!”
Grace heard her stomach growl. It seemed days since she’d devoured the sausages and mash, and the only thing she’d eaten since arriving in Beatrigone was the candyfloss. The thought of food made her feel even worse, and she doubted if she could keep anything down. However, when the mind-numbing music started up again, it spurred her into action.
Ignoring the now familiar stares, Grace went to the tent and read the sign. 'Their Bark Is No Worse Than Your Bite'. She looked into the steaming containers, but instead of the usual terracotta colour, the hotdogs were like nothing she had ever seen before - black & white striped, black & brown, various shades of beige, tan, and white, and all ranging in size from short & skinny to long and fat.
The attendant, a stout man with chubby pink cheeks, smiled and clapped his hands. “Yes, Miss, what would you like? I have some excellent Maltese and Pekinese, fresh in today, or perhaps you'd prefer a big spicy German Rottweiler?” (Aw man that’s gross!)
Grace clamped a hand over her mouth and backed away. What little was in her stomach was not going to stay there. Next second she was running through the fairground, not knowing or caring where her legs would take her. All she knew was that she had to get out!
*****