If you go to the fair

If you go to the fair there's a certain huge tent where waits amid the clutter the old stand-up comedian with his long straggly beard now turning white. He's wild-eyed and enthusiastic, he'll lead you inside in spite of your trepidations.
In the disorder and dimness inside spread out on the floor among dozing tramps is a large blue quilt sewn with scenes and colours. Leaping dolphins sporting in azure seas, freshly depicted on the tapestry. And these flitting birds of a dull brown colour, he tells you (he's read it from a script) represent the souls of despondent suicides. The suicide epidemic among young guys means that the gloomy birds have proliferated, and are perching among the branches of a bitter tree. But who knows whether the old stand-up comic can be trusted? His thoughts and gestures seem disordered and over-dramatic.
And after reading your tea-leaves and administering the drug he ties you up in a foul-smelling tent where animals have recently been. Calls you "my dear" and tells you not to worry. Strokes your soft, exposed throat with his long finger. Perhaps preparing you as a candle-lit exhibit for the after-hours black mass, where all the carnies come masked and solemn.