Mumu watched sadly as the tourists crossed the street to avoid having to walk in front of him. What a sad state of affairs the world was in when people didn’t want to have to engage with the neighborhood mime anymore. 20, 10, even 5 years ago he could hardly eat lunch with all the people around him, clamoring for more of his scenarios. He had to ice his back at night from the 10-12 hours of performing he did each day. He lived in a 2-bedroom apartment paid for solely with tips and the occasional circus gig. Life was worth living, if not worth speaking about.
Now, he bunked with his younger sister whenever she didn’t have a live-in boyfriend and hadn’t booked a circus job in 17 months. No one wanted to see the aging elephants step on boxes with their arthritic feet, and no one wanted to see the aging mime with a herniated disc beside them. The whimsy had worn away and now instead of creating illusion himself, Mumu just reminded people of their own loss with his peeling face paint and balding head.
But where do mimes and elephants go to retire?