We had a circus. Nyah nyah.
The Midnight Circus is one of Chicago’s cultural gems, a gritty little troupe with sass and skill and a very light heart. And they practice less than two blocks from me. The leaders of the troupe live around the corner. I always find myself peeking in their window to see if they’re doing anything cool, like hanging off the chandelier, but they seem mostly to be watching TV when I’m out walking the dog. Odd, yet mysterious.
Here’s a few of the pics I clicked:
It’s hard to see, but in the last picture, the contortionist has gotten himself stuck in a stringless tennis racket, but he eventually puts his whole body through it. You can see part of the racket, the red object by his crotch.
It doesn’t get any better than a circus in your neighborhood park.
I think this was the group that was the place where the injured circus performer that Beth was going to move to Chicago with was planning on joining. (Do not make me diagram that sentence). Unfortunately, said injury happened, said circus performer remains in Saint Paul, and the kid’s still living with us.
See? If he’d joined them, I could keep an eye on everything.
BTW, people are supposed to run away and join the circus, aren’t they? Beth could always run away and maybe apprentice in the popcorn booth. Real world education.
Just spitballing to help vacate your house!