This is an image post. Inspiration for this sketch came from this image.

The Natural has been working this job for a long, long time.
Every night for centuries, a little bit of razzle dazzle.
The murmur of the crowd, the impatience, the boredom.
The moment — just one, but that’s enough — of silence.

The Natural straightens its hat and licks an eyebrow smooth.
The Natural lets its eyes loose to check the line of its high-collared coat.
The Natural gives one last shine to its buttons.
The Natural squares its shoulders and spreads the curtains wide.

The Natural owns this space, owns the cheapness of it, the tackiness.
Stale perfume, dirty shirts, the crinkle of cellophane.
Reek of sex under bleachers, boozy piss, chewing gum and graffiti.
The Natural keeps it all written down.
The Natural remembers.

The Natural spreads the joy of music.
The Natural can’t stop dancing.
The Natural lifts its feet and rises through the air.
The Natural moves in and out of the crowd like a shark.

The Natural is tired of war.
Always fighting somewhere, always hating, always killing.
The Natural remembers a better time.
Children don’t know what’s hard and what’s easy, but the Natural knows.

The Natural can feel the crowd going restless.
Peaks and valleys, it wears them on its skin.
The Natural slides its sleeves back.
The moment — just one, but that’s enough — of silence.