That’s how Djallo felt. His head thundered; he’d drank too much yesterday. Now, caged before dim, smoky, raucous stands of gambling spectators, the amusement of this act was fading.
The bell dinged. The audience froze. The tigers moved, hungry.
He worked the act — worked the audience — as always; and then broke the rule as he’d been instructed: he turned his back on the tigers.
A guy’s gotta eat.
They pounced, untameable; they were made for this — Djallo too.
He’d have a fresh body tomorrow. He’d do it again — win or lose.
A guy’s gotta eat, after all.