One of these days.

May 19, San Jose.

Four shows today. Three tomorrow, two on Monday, and on to the next town that night.
Anybody wanna join the circus?
The smiles will be on all day but the costumes might be a little rumpled by the third show, and the muscles sore. Tired feet will ache, backs will hurt, each step taken infinitely slower, before laying down to rest, to rest for tomorrow's smiles.
That might have been the real reason behind the otherwise rather titillating sortie of the two clowns from San Francisco.
The story goes that they were caught in an embarrassing position by pretty much the whole Mexican crew having a beer late at night at the cookhouse, and came by the office the next day a letter in hand from a freshly-hired lawyer requesting a break of their contract and subsequent departure.
I think they just couldn't take the seven days a week routine, the traveling late after a day's work deal, the portable toilets out in the boondocks treats, the cookhouse regimen of S and F (salt and fat galore,) circus life on a daily grind basis in all its delicacy on both body and soul. So they bolted at the first scandal, albeit an admittedly saucy one.
That they couldn't stand the heat is obvious. Which heat is the question.