“These sausages had better be worth it,” says Harry, hopping from one foot to the other.
The queue in front of the brightly-painted cart is a good thirty people long, even though it’s still early.
“They will be,” Liam replies authoritatively; he bought two different guidebooks beforehand,
as well as read all the mum-and-dad-run fansites that tell you which rides to skip and where to find the Hidden Mickeys—and they all agree that these eight-dollar corndogs are unmissable.
Liam is determined to make the most of this trip, because he’s with his best mates in the whole world, and also it’s fucking
Harry stops, sniffing the air. “Why does everything smell like your shampoo?”
“Vanilla scent. They use pumps to fill the air with it,” Liam says, pointing at the nearby candy shop. “They call them Smellitzers.”
“Nerd,” Harry teases. Liam just rolls his eyes.
They finally get to the counter and order two corndogs each, and Harry liberally slathers one with ketchup and mustard before taking a bite out of the end. “Oh my god,” he says, eyes widening.
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