The tour guide put a stack of twenties down on the counter. "I got fifty of 'em," she said. "That's two hundred and fifty bucks." She had an American accent, somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon line. Perry had been expecting a Korean accent, broken English. Perry riffled the bills. "I'll take your word for it." She winked at him. "They got off the plane and they were all like, 'Screw Disney, we have one of those in Seoul, what's *new*, what's *American*?' So I took them here. You guys totally rock." He could have kissed her. His heart took wing. "In you go," he said. "Lester will get you the extra ride vehicles." "They're all in there already," he said. "I've been running the whole fleet for two weeks and I've got ten more on order." Perry whistled. "You shoulda said," he said, then turned back to the tour guide. "It might be a little bit of a wait." "Ten, fifteen minutes," Lester said. "No *problem*," she said. "They'll wait till kingdom come, provided there's good shopping to be had." Indeed the tour group was at the center of a pack of vendor-kids, hawking busts and tattoos, contacts and action-figures, kitchenware and cigarette lighters. Once she was gone, Lester gave his shoulder another squeeze. "I hired two more kids to bring the ride cars back around to the entrance." When Perry had left, that had been a once-daily chore, something you did before shutting down for the night. "Holy crap," Perry said, watching the tour group edge toward the entrance, slip inside in ones and twos. "It's amazing, isn't it?" Lester said. "And wait till you see the ride!" Perry didn't get a chance to ride until much later that day, once the sun had set and the last market-stall had been shut and the last rider had been chased home, when he and Lester slugged back bottles of flat distilled water from their humidity-still and sat on the ticket counter to get the weight off their tired feet. "Now we ride," Lester said. "You're going to *love* this." The first thing he noticed was that the ride had become a lot less open. When he'd left, there'd been the sense that you were in a giant room -- all that dead Wal-Mart -- with little exhibits spread around it, like the trade-floor at a monster-car show. But now the exhibits had been arranged out of one another's sight-lines, and some of the taller pieces had been upended to form baffles. It was much more like a carny haunted house trade-show floor now. The car circled slowly in the first "room," which had accumulated a lot of junk that wasn't mad inventions from the heyday of New Work. There was a chipped doll-cradle, and a small collection of girls' dolls, a purse spilled on the floor with photos of young girls clowning at a birthday party. He reached for the joystick with irritation and slammed it toward minus one -- what the hell was this crap?