The Street Magician

It is not possible to amble along a downtown Atlanta sidewalk undisturbed. Street entertainers line the building sides promising to impress, and business owners try to coax in the most discrete of passers by. 

Adorned with a red, western neckerchief and clad in denim, the magician crouched against the wall of a quirky vintage boutique. He was nestled among tie-dye, tatty cardboard boxes with weather bitten corners, and an array of old vinyl records as he fumbled with a deck of cards and tobacco paraphernalia. We then all made the mistake of letting our primitive human intrigue become apparent.

Initially seeming redundant and absorbed by the cards, the man burst to life in a low rambling of what we thought to be another language, thrusting the splayed deck in front of us. He signalled for us to pick a card. We hesitantly obliged. Every word uttered was unrecognisable but the fluctuation of his voice, and exaggerated hand gestures made it clear when weren’t complying. The progression of the trick relied on our trial and error, but he eventually reproduced the card we had originally picked.

Deeming him “very talented” and slipping him a few creased ‘ones’, we proceeded to walk away, but the encounter was not over for the magician. He stopped us in our tracks and continued to demonstrate the variety of tricks possible with the deck of cards. Intimidated by his abrasiveness, we handed him more dog-eared notes and began to edge in the opposite direction. The next was slightly alarming since communication was not possible.

He then became more subdued, slowly and discretely reaching inside the breast of his jacket. This combined with a threatening murmur we had no reason not to fear him. Perhaps he was reaching for a cigarette or a packet of chewing gum, but eighteen dollars short we cut our losses and walked.

Unavoidably passing him again on the way back, he offered his coarse ashy hand to shake, perhaps as a peace offering.