“Without us noticing it?”

“It’s very quiet,” Shawn said. “Which is what we should be. Let’s put our trash in the wastebasket and walk out of here.”

“But if we leave first, he’ll target us for sure.”

“Just look straight ahead and keep walking,” Shawn said. “Whatever happens, keep walking.”

Gus didn’t need Shawn to tell him that. He still remembered that terrible day on the Santa Barbara Pier fifteen years ago when he had been targeted for mockery by a particularly cruel mime. By the time he escaped into the crowd, Gus had witnessed such a vicious deconstruction of his walk that he was paralyzed by self-consciousness and unable to get out of bed for a week.

Balling up their trash and tossing it in a receptacle, Shawn and Gus walked slowly but determinedly away from the snack bar, past the bathrooms, and towards the exit. As they rounded the ticket booth, Gus noticed that Shawn wasn’t next to him anymore.

“He’s gone,” Shawn said.

Gus stopped walking, but refused to turn his head to see Shawn behind him.. “You looked back?”

“No,” Shawn said. “Not really. More of a glance. A glimpse, maybe.”

“That’s what they all say, right before they turn into a pillar of salt.”

“Better than being a pillar of Jell-O,” Shawn said.

“Yeah?” Gus said. “Wait until it rains and see which pillar lasts longer.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Shawn said. “There’s more to life than how long you can stand out in the rain without melting.”

“If there is, I haven’t come across it,” Gus said, still refusing to cast a backwards glance. “Can we go now?”

Apparently not. Shawn hadn’t moved. He was staring back towards the snack bar, looking for the vanished mime. “There was something wrong with that mime,” Shawn said.

“By definition,” Gus said.