
Moody intermission at Circus Vargas. Not even two hundred people in the seats. Darkened moody tent, jazz riff through the sound system. Moody, too. Feels like sitting on the edge of spangled oblivion. This is how the world ends, not with a bang, but the last pony ride under the last big top during the last intermission. But there over the ring is the net and the promise of artistic redemption, and all of us no doubt are banking on the flying trapeze, once the show resumes, to give us the thrill we expect at a circus.What suckers we were that downbeat day. Don’t look over too many rings these days with much hope; the thrill may be gone.The Vargas Flyers, they are really the Tabares, but not really the real Tabares whom the overactive ringmaster...