They smiled when he appeared; but he wasn’t smiling.
They laughed at his hilarious performance; but he didn’t laugh.
They loved his appearances, but he didn’t love appearing here; in truth, he had never loved anything, or anyone.
With an unrelenting air of dignity, he exudes a pensive mood in that grim unsmiling face. Keeping up with an austere life, he entertained everyone yet did nothing to entertain himself. He had little confidence in the intellect of most and kept everyone at arm’s length. Pleasure was such a rarity that this staid character remained so over thirty years.
He returned, with unchallenged composure and formality. He questioned his ability to amuse or impress. There was no humour in his overpowering cynicism, yet that was what made it so ideal for the role. He found it unfathomable that he had thrived in a character so contradicting to his true self. For whatever it was worth, the crowd still loved him as the comedian they knew him to be.
As sixty years elapsed, he winced with every reminder that he had yet to lead the life he wished for…
And he knew too that there wasn’t too many days left…