You were part of the circus, too. Not a performer, but the girl who stitched costumes.

He’d seek you out sometimes. He’d just sit near your tent. Other times he’d just check up on you.

This night, he was in your tent. You’d offered warmth for the snakes from the stove you had in your tent.

The tent was barely big enough for two, while you poured boiling water into a chipped bowl, he sat near it, letting his snakes slither around the warmth

He didn’t speak much—not in his own words. Words filtered through his snakes: “It’s nice here, says Oscar.”