I’m not one of those new magicians, playing pop music over my illusions, incorporating Harry Potter tales into my routine. I’m old school. If that means a few jeers as my show starts up, fine, I can take it.
Rabbits have teeth. Carrots are one of the toughest vegetables, and it’s always a gamble reaching into my black top hat.
Children shriek as my blood spurts out over the audience, spraying little Madison’s seven-year-old friends across their formerly bored, sallow faces.
Fortunately, one of my tricks is regenerating fingers. The kids stare, enthralled, dropping their smartphones on the floor.
Author’s Note: I remember the first time I saw a magician as a kid, at my local public library. He placed his fingers in a miniature guillotine. I was terrified and thrilled all at once.