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  • They came to a small plaza, where dozens of men stood among large chalkboards placed in rows that zigzagged from one end to the space to the other. It wasn’t at all clear what the men were after. A heavyset woman sat at one end of the chalkboards with a pen and clipboard in her lap; and now and again, she would hand a piece of paper to an adolescent girl, who would then climb a small step ladder, and begin copying the words out in colored chalk. The men would gather around, with severe expressions on their wind-bitten faces, scrutinizing her work. Henry, Patalarga and Nelson watched from the edges of the crowd, waiting for the right moment to get a better look. For once Henry didn’t pretend he knew everything, but took in the scene with the same puzzlement as the rest. He sent Nelson, finally, to investigate.

    “You’re an actor,” Henry said, “you’ll blend.”

    Nelson returned moments later. He had not blended, but been met instead with dozens of distrustful eyes. They were job postings, he reported. Classified ads, performed live.

    Henry rejoiced. “Theater for the people!” he said, as if the idea had been his all along.

    from: "At Night We Walk in Circles"
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