Nothing groans like a Ferris wheel in the wind. I never did understand why anyone would want to ride one of the damned things. You can practically hear the rivets pop, if the drivetrain's been properly lubed. Thrown in some gusts and a little rain and it's enough to make you contemplate your sins. We got twelve on the lot right new, latest one just shipped in from Taichung. That bastard Sid made me assemble the whole damned thing. He likes the look, iron mandalas blocking the horizon in all directions from his shack. When they spin, they're the biggest prayer wheels on Earth. In the wind, it's a death prayer.
Sid was a short man with long red hair and a flaming temper. Sid's pride and joy was his mustache, thick and fluid, combed and waxed into points that stuck out a foot from his face. Sid dreamed of being a member of the World Mustache Team but he never quite made it. He'd pissed too many people off along the way. Sid was never a team player.
I hereby invite you to contribute here in comments to the story of Yokohama Sid's Used Ferris Wheel Lot, taking off from the above or the concept in general as it pleases you. Start your group story telling engines.