What had stopped them?

A teardrop.

It moved shining down Mr. Crosetti’s left cheek. He breathed heavily.

“Crosetti, you fool! Something happens, nothing happens, you cry like a baby!”

Mr. Crosetti took a trembling breath, snuffing. “Don’t you smell it?”

Jim and Will sniffed.

“Licorice!”

“Heck, no. Cotton candy!”

“I haven’t smelled that in years,” said Mr. Crosetti.

Jim snorted. “It’s around.”

“Yes, but who notices? When? Now, my nose tells me, breathe! And I’m crying. Why? Because I remember how a long time ago, boys ate that stuff. Why haven’t I stopped to think and smell the last thirty years?”

“You’re busy, Mr. Crosetti,” Will said. “You haven’t got time.”

Mr. Crosetti wiped his eyes. “Where does that smell come from? There’s no place in town sells cotton candy. Only circuses.”

“Hey,” said Will. “That’s right!”

“Well, Crosetti is done crying.” The barber blew his nose and turned to lock his shop door. As he did this, Will watched the barber’s pole whirl its red serpentine up out of nothing, leading his gaze around, rising to vanish into more nothing. On countless moons Will had stood here trying to unravel that ribbon, watch it come, go, end without ending.

Mr. Crosetti put his hand to the light switch under the spinning pole.

“Don’t,” said Will. Then, murmuring, “Don’t turn it off.”

Mr. Crosetti looked at the pole, as if freshly aware of its miraculous properties. He nodded, gently, his eyes soft. “Where does it come from, where does it go, eh? Who knows? Not you, not him, not me. Oh, the mysteries, by God. So. We’ll leave it on!”

It’s good to know, thought Will, it’ll be running until dawn, winding up from nothing, winding away to nothing, while we sleep.