See the acrobat tumble, twist, roll in the air like a whirligig. He releases the trapeze and hangs for a moment, suspended in space at the apex of his arc. It’s as if the spotlight holds him aloft. Think of that, little photons bubbling on his leotard, delivering him to the tent top. That delightful, invisible carbonation must feel, on his fine cut muscles and manic grin, a worthy reward for the risk, for the danger, for the death-defying feat. His stunt resumes after you’ve held your breath, and he falls, he spins. Like a last-minute scribble from a desperate author on deadline, the trapeze reappears from the shadow. He grabs it, he swings, and in seconds, seconds, he is standing on the far platform, safe, smiling. Spectacular.

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