... or at least a pause and a thought, if that's more your line, for the man who appeared to be fighting for his life tonight as the critics and the crowds queued up for the Cirque du Soleil opening.
He went down--heart attack, I'd guess--shortly before curtain, sprawled on the asphalt just outside one of the main entrances to the big top. I watched the EMTs try to revive him, hammering away at his chest as the hordes jostled their way, oblivious (or maybe, like me, trying not to gawk too intrusively), into the tent, and I've never felt quite so useless.
Someone told me at intermission that he died. I hope not, and if it's true I just ache for his family.