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87 Grouse of the Circus Boss They might as well be sitting on their hands, he says, nodding toward the audience hunched on the plank seats surrounding the three rings. They wouldn’t know death if it knocked, don’t know what it takes to walk a wire, enter a cage of cats, time a leap into a catcher’s chalky grip, the mad defiance of it all. They all want special effects, have no idea a roustabout in black waits under the trapeze, lies beside the tigers’ flaming hoop, softly whistles to the wire walker’s dance. We can’t compete with light shows, surround sound, wide-screen outer space. Oh, they’d go to a freak show, but Four-Armed Arnold, Seal Girl, and The Human Blockhead live along the Gulf, collect unemployment, play hearts, and trim the bougainvillea climbing on the fence out front. We’re here to say to hell with that. Take a chance. Fly across the center ring. Hang from the top of the tent by your hair. ...

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