Thibault Cournil
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I thought it was a gargoyle. A glorious gothic gargoyle surveying the sinuous slopes of a roller coaster. I wanted it to be a gargoyle, it should be a gargoyle, a mythical creature scrutinizing the mad descent of gravity-driven carts, feeding off the fluttering shudder of fear and vibrating delight.
All roller coasters should be guarded by gargoyles to whom every rider owes a thrill-toll, a debt incurred for the experience of danger without the cost of consequence.
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