To Dreamland

Louis Purchase was whisking back & forth in a bright red Waco UEC, trailing a banner reading DRINK KIRCH'S QUALITY BEVERAGES. Suddenly, a handful of oil dashed against his windshield, and his engine coughed as though it had swallowed a bone. He looked down for a place to land. But Pilot Purchase was over Coney Island on a Sunday afternoon, and all he could see was 800,000 people in bathing suits. A hundred feet behind the beach was the only open space, Dreamland Park: a few tennis courts and flower beds. He dropped quickly, barely missing one hump of a roller coaster, bumped his Waco down in Dreamland, made a mess of the flower beds, was slightly cut about the face.

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