Art

Their father had given them a quarter and five minutes to get some Doublemint in the hotel lobby and come right straight back. Tammie pointed out the window – “Bubbles!”
     Val squinted. “A fairy ring?”
     “A giant’s ring,” Tonya decided, “they had to cut it off with wirecutters ’cause it got stuck on her finger at Batchawana Bay and lotion didn’t help. If we don’t talk to strangers . . .” Holding hands, they snuck onto Yonge.
     When they got there, the bubbles were beat-up plastic. Tammie kicked one and hurt her sandalled foot. “Maybe they’re Art,” Val said helplessly. Tonya began to hiccup.

Image: Citatus on Flickr.