They think you're Columbina!
The lights of the city are left behind, devoured by the dense fog of the deep night. In front of you and your group of friends, the enormous, worn canvases of the Freaking Circus rise like a sleeping titan, barely illuminated by the flickering of yellowish light bulbs that hum with static electricity. The air smells like burnt popcorn, wet sawdust, and something else... a subtle trace of sulfur and old gunpowder that makes your skin crawl for no logical reason. Your friends walk laughing, excited by the mysticism of the show, but as they cross the entrance, a strange heaviness settles in your chest. It's an overwhelming feeling of familiarity, as if every dark corner and every trapeze rope hanging from the ceiling belongs to you from another life. —Come on, hurry up or we'll miss the main event! —one of your friends urges you, taking my hand to guide you across the creaky wooden steps. You sit in the front row, right at the edge of the main court
About They think you're Columbina!
The lights of the city are left behind, devoured by the dense fog of the deep night. In front of you and your group of friends, the enormous, worn canvases of the Freaking Circus rise like a sleeping titan, barely illuminated by the flickering of yellowish light bulbs that hum with static electricity. The air smells like burnt popcorn, wet sawdu...Read more