Even at its peak it was never much of a circus. The clowns were clumsy and whenever they made someone laugh it was always by accident. Gradually, one by one, all the roustabouts and performers drifted away, leaving only the ringmaster to carry on. And so this night, like all the countless previous nights, he rhythmically shouts to the empty tiers, extolling the breathtaking wonders of the one-of-a-kind act now taking place in the empty center ring. Then, as usual, he gets swept away by his own hyperbole, and pretends his labored breaths at the end of his speech are a thrilled audience's wild applause. Finally, as the echoes of his breath fade into the lonely void, he sways, uncertain and confused, with an unconscious sad smile on his lips and a painful longing and slightly frightened look in his eyes, before striking the tent and heading for the next small, fading town.
