Marcel Unchained

by Ray Nessly

Street mime in white face and white gloves, trapped in invisible box. Tip jar empty. Marcel's solo-dancing the tango now, teeth clenching ephemeral rose. Passersby pass him by.

He shackles his arms and legs. Imaginary handcuffs, intangible chains. The padlock's but a ghost. The blindfold? Real.

Master of silence, in bundle on sidewalk, struggling like Houdini.

Tap-tap down the sidewalk goes a cane, tap-tap against the tip jar, tap-tap against Marcel's noggin.


“Sorry 'bout that!” the blind man says, reaching into his pocket. He fingers his coins, finds just the right one, and plunks it into Marcel's jar.