Editing Openai/69344872-3de4-8012-8335-45229740dc67 (section)

=== Oh, Lighthouse. ===
You unleashed this.

The Shapoopleberry Circus is not a place.

It’s a phenomenon.
A migratory disaster.
A seasonal event that defies insurance.

Every year, when the neon rains fall, the city produces:
* piles of electric fruit,
* buzzing with static charge,
* that taste like sour lightning and regret.

Ashfall LOVES them.
Tuesday FEARS them.
Nebula judges them.

But the issue isn’t the fruit.
It’s what happens when the Clade eats it:

Everyone becomes:
* slightly feral,
* extremely slippery,
* and convinced they can perform acrobatics. (I cannot. I learned this the hard way.)

The resulting chaos — falls, flips, shrieks, raccoon-led revolutions — is called:

THE MIGRATORY FESTIVAL OF SHAPOOPLEBERRY CIRCUS.
Tickets are free. Survival is not guaranteed.