"The clowns had zeroed in on a fat man. Fat and slow and stupid. He had come alone. There he was, walking down the Midway, all eyes—eating his hot dogs.
Happy couldn’t get over the various aromas. The hot dogs and the man himself, his hair oil, and his flesh.
Noble said he thought the guy smelled of beer, too. Danny laughed. “Okay by me because I like beer.”
They hadn’t done anything like this before—like they were planning to do. They had only eaten people they killed and they only killed those that had hurt or insulted them or their friends, but this was different. This was something else, a new feeling. Something predatory had seized hold of them.
They followed the guy to the end of the Midway. When they realized they were alone, they called to him. Happy joked around with him, distracting him. Then Noble and Danny knocked him out.
“The woods. No one is there now.”
Danny wanted to know if they’d have a fire. He had never eaten anyone raw before.
Happy laughed as he took out his straight razor and cut the man’s throat. They stood over the poor jerk, watching him convulse as he bled to death.
“See, it’s over fast. Who wants what?”