For a staid, middle-aged man— br once cool, now not, br the midway of the carnival offers br less appeal than— br br most things, br but he is drawn by young hands. br It is both better and worse br than he imagines— br br better, in that it is something different, br worse, in that what he anticipates is right. br br The small hand in his, br which he squeezes a bit tightly, br pulls him from one booth br to the next, one ride to the next. br br Visually and aurally it is br too much. br br The space around him br and his charge br becomes precious. br br There are many images br which might serve later. br For now one strikes a chord— br br the shooting gallery br with its ducks in a row. br br As they pass on their circuit br he sees that a few have gone missing, br most are dinged, br none stand a chance.br br Hanque O . . .