Title: Will Mime For Food
Length: Exactly 200 words
As a huge blob of rain hit him right in the eye, all Marcel could think was, “This is going to end badly”.
He stared helplessly as a lump of white makeup rolled down his cheek and landed like a lump of bird diarrhoea on his shiny black loafers. As the heavens opened, the crowd started to disperse. Women screeched as the rain came down, as if they were The Wicked Witch of the Fucking West, melting under the onslaught of filthy city water.
Each bullet of rain took bits of his facepaint off and hurled them at the ground. He wanted to shout “Stop!” at the fickle punters, but he was sure that would be breaking some old mime Code of Conduct.
His black gloves now streaked with red and white, he bent over to pick up the battered trilby at his feet and flicked through the varied detritus resting at the bottom.
Three pounds and fifty nine pence. Some euros. (What the hell was he supposed to do with euros?) A guy’s phone number scrawled on the back of an old travelcard. And a greasy wrapper containing a half-eaten cheeseburger. Oh well, at least dinner’s taken care of.