With Gusto

Let the Elephants Dance: Postcard Story

It was when the elephants danced that Tony looked over at Bette and loved her from within. Bette was a horrible creatue to most, but she loved the circus, and so did he.
Tony himself was ugly: Stout, short, bristly, high-voiced, small-footed. Bette was much the same.
"What is there past the circus?" he said.
"The circus itself," Bette responded, and giggled.
Tony was unsure if it was because of the elephant standing on her hind legs, or his comment. The crowd is sparse. A few children, some parents, bored carnies. The show's routine presented itself.
"You like routine?" he asked Bette, who picked at her green frock and said, "Wearing underwear is as formal as I ever hope to get."
"I hate it too."
At this sort of statement, Tony would have wanted to pull down his pants and moon his petit pieds-escaliers. Instead he did what felt appropiate and touched her elbow, masked behind her frock.