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Frank Cluck 
suddenly in a night´s work you realize a thousand lives depend on yours and already you hear a hissing. The lives are not of the audience, (the visience?) neither the hissing. Consider-- why do the best terrorists in every cartoon put clocks into their time bombs? ("A mere courtesy, Natasha.") Mime, already we hear a hissing, a ticking; the drifting balloon that you are loses air slowly. In the subdued light, you run through a thousand ways to show panic; here in the bleachers, we prepare our one face.
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