![]() ![]() He slowly straightens up and dusts his hands off. “Oh, wait a minute,” he grumbles, “this isn’t Caesarea, is it?” Sounds of laughter. He slowly turns to face the room and scans it with a long, unblinking look. “Put your hands together for Dovaleh G!” The man onstage still crouches like a monkey, his big glasses askew on his nose. “Ladies and gentlemen!” announces a tight-lipped man standing at the lighting console. People are still filing into the club, chatting loudly. Scattered laughter and applause from the audience. He takes a few faltering steps, trips, brakes himself on the wood floor with both hands, then sharply juts his rear end straight up. ![]() ![]() A short, slight, bespectacled man lurches onto the stage from a side door as if he’d been kicked through it. The audience slowly quiets down and grins expectantly. The thundering shout echoes from the wings. Good evening! good evening! Good evening to the majestic city of Ceasariyaaaaaah!” ![]()
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