Molasses drips on the walls. Close to the entrance, leading to the altar and centerpiece of whiteness, brown sugar boys hold baskets as their faces and bodies melt in the heat. A few of them have collapsed on the floor, disintegrating into dark viscous puddles. And the onlookers who have come to the slavery fair to gawk and take pictures against a background of stark plantation pornography step over the fallen, with hardly a notice. But the sight of the fall and the reek of the demise linger.