“Ooh la la!” Lance was mocking him, nearly shouting. The street mime had a striped shirt, one of those French hats, face makeup, and even lipstick. He had unveiled a bouquet of imaginary roses, to which Lance’s girlfriend had squealed with delight. “I can almost smell them!”

Boundaries needed to be set. “Oui Oui monsewer!” he sneered.

“Lance,” his girlfriend started, and he was having none of that.

“I’m not going to have my girl scolding me all day about this, and I’m sure as hell not going to have some French fairy hitting on my girl!” He wagged a finger. “I’ll be back, when she’s not around.” He grabbed her arm and walked away.

It was too late; she was in a bad mood now, and the afternoon was ruined. The mime had ruined it. At least there was guys’ night to look forward to.

That night, he said later to his friends as the bar closed, and started the long walk back to his apartment. Imagine if he’d needed to drive. He would have been fine, of course, but his girl would have never let him hear the end of it.

A few blocks away, he had the darkened street to himself; he turned a corner, and a man was standing there. Regular clothes; no hat; no makeup.

“It’s you!” Lance said.

The mime nodded.

Lance strode forward, bringing his arms up — and crashed into something. A smooth wall, maybe glass. In the dim light, he couldn’t see it at all. But the mime had not even flinched; he’d known it was there.

Lance was aware he was drunk, and considered that, even though the opportunity seemed to have dropped into his lap, this might not be the best time and place for a fight. The next time, he’d have a clear advantage.

He turned, and immediately bumped into another glass wall. That one hadn’t been there a moment ago. He reached out to each side and banged his knuckles. The invisible box he was in, all four sides, was about the size of an airplane’s bathroom.

The mime watched with a smile as Lance started to panic, beating his fists on walls that were not only invisible but soundproof. Lance had become a mime himself. How ironic was that?

The mime turned on an invisible spigot, and the invisible box started to fill with invisible water. Now the guy was really upset. He knew it was best to be far away when the body was discovered; but he needed to make sure. When Lance’s body had been hovering, dead eyes open, for a couple minutes, the mime waved his hand and the corpse slumped to the pavement.

The mime briskly walked away, angling along side streets and disappearing into the city. Yes, getting petty revenge was small-time stuff. It was an unusual talent, but still required practicing and building up. Once he had enough power, it would be time to think big.