As I circled around the bandstand, from which there was a notable absence of music emanating, I saw a woman on stilts, a man juggling while riding a unicycle, and an artist doing caricatures, a scene just as I have always imagined it when that angry mob attacked the French prison in 1789.

Also, I could not help but notice that a mime was following me, imitating my every movement.

But I ignored him. Sure there was the temptation to do something embarrassing, to see if he would follow suit, but there were numerous small children in attendance, so I grudgingly restrained myself.

Then I started to feel sorry for him. He had committed to making me his target, but I was disinterested and no one else was paying any attention to him either. And he couldn’t just give up. That would be antithetical to the unspoken mime code of conduct.

So I engaged. I started making revolutions around him, causing him to spin to maintain his relative position to me. I spoke. He didn’t. I told him I had gained the upper hand, as I was now following him.

He bowed and conceded, non verbally, smiling and silently applauding, before walking away, while the band continued not to play on.