"We live in a different world now. At one time the whole town took a lively interest in the hunger artist; from day to day of his fast the excitement mounted; everybody wanted to see him at least once a day; there were people who bought season tickets for the last few days and sat from morning till night in front of his small barred cage; even in the nighttime there were visiting hours, when the whole effect was heightened by torch flares; on fine days the cage was set out in the open air, and then it was the children's special treat to see the hunger artist; for their elders he was often just a joke that happened to be in fashion, but the children stood open-mouthed,holding each other's hands for greater security,marvelling at him as he sat there pallid in black tights,whith his ribs sticking out so prominently,not even on a seat but down among straw on the ground,sometimes giving a courteous nod,answering questions with a constrained smile,or perhaps stretching an arm through the bars so that one might feel how thin it was,and then again withdrawing deep into himself,paying no attention to anyone or anything,not even to the all-important striking of the clock that was his only piece of furniture in his cage,but merely staring into vacancy with half-shut eyes,now and then taking a sip from his tiny glass of water to moisten his lips."
-from Kafka's "A Hunger Artist"
