July 23, 9:24 p.m. A young couple, Madison Paxton and Brandon Handy, kiss at the Craig County Carnival.

July 23, 8:14 p.m. Teens and young children enjoy the opening night of the Craig County Carnival.

His shaggy hair and T-shirt fall on his frame as if on a hanger.

Her big eyes take him in. She giggles more than speaks.

Brandon Handy pedaled his bike 16 miles over the mountain from Paint Bank to the carnival in New Castle, just to be with Madison Paxton.

"I'm going to marry this woman," Brandon says. "I want to be with her the rest of my life."

They're two high school kids in love, stealing an embrace under the tangerine glow of Tilt-A-Whirl lights at the Craig County Carnival.

But a carnival is always about a momentary temptation. A brief indulgence. A passing fling.

Some might say there was more than a little temptation the last time the carnival rolled into New Castle. Back then, it wasn't much more than a girly show and some dice tables. So the city fathers (and mothers) shut it down.

Tonight, they sheepishly chuckle, recalling the bygone days while watching children and grandchildren float through the fairgrounds like fireflies. It must be 20 years ago since the last die was thrown.

Now, grandmas, single moms and laid-off dads toss down dollars some don't really have for cotton candy, funnel cake and soda to fuel their youngsters spinning in neon tea cups, barely able to keep down the sugary blend.

The young couple sneaks another long kiss, this time by the midway, as the carnival workers try to lure them to the ball toss or balloon pop.

Brandon pushes his hair back from a face smooth as hers, save a few hairs in the tip of his chin. Madison giggles again, then spots a group of friends.

It's one last peck and she's off.