The artists, behind their glorious masks and meditative looks, hide thin, rickety, malnourished frames. They look happy somehow. This evening has been in the making for months. The artisans will be paid, sheltered and fed for a week. They all seem upbeat at the prospect. Food for dancing. Such short-lived exuberance makes the word bourgeoisie hang in mid air, silently floating on top of your head...
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