and the air smells like molasses and spit-roasted pork. I sneak in, all but drooling. Our cook Lannie’s laughing with some other ladies near the confectionary stand, holding a blue cotton candy big as my head. Lannie sometimes slips me treats behind Mama’s back. I run over–Lannie, I want some! She considers, shakes her head. Sorry baby, this is Negro cotton candy. Too bad, because we get the sweetest, best kind. The ladies snicker. I pout. Well, that ain’t fair. Lannie pops a piece into her mouth and smiles, her teeth deliriously blue. No, it ain’t, she says. Remember that.