My name''s Charlie. I''m many things, though none of them having to do with any real talent. I''m a runaway, a hustler when I need to be, a ghost when I have to scare hoodlums away from my home, and a loner who maybe reads too much. But most of all, I''m the keeper of the carnival. That''s how I see myself. I look after the place ''cause even dying things need to be cared for. Maybe it''s illegal. Maybe that rusty metal fence around the carnival is supposed to keep me out too. Or maybe me and this place were meant to find each other. Truth is, I never felt at home anywhere but here, not even in all the foster families and orphanages I was placed in as a young shit. They don''t look for me no more, those places. I suspect I ran away so much they finally just said, "Fuck! Let him go." I am a hangnail on society''s manicured middle finger. I''m older. One year past the age anyone gives a shit.  And this is my adventure.