So this is how the curtain falls — ankles bound, arms chained, submerged in a tank full of water? Oblivious to my genuine plight, the inverted audience is riveted. I’d hear a pin drop if the sound could penetrate the fog of anticipation and an inch of glass.
I’m the undisputed master of misdirection. But I’m nothing without my faithful assistant Marco. He’s learnt every intricate detail of my act, to ensure it always plays out without a hitch, including when to step into the wings so that I can receive all the adulation I deserve.
That is, it appears, until tonight.