CLOWN TRAFFICKING

He comes of good clownstock. His mother was a fixture in traveling circuses; his father made the circuit of county fairs. He could perform before he could walk. He has a viciously funny routine reprising a man in a round room searching for the corners. Every rendering of it he adds nuance. New material he picks up with one view, is building an enviable repertoire. As long as domestic clownery remains illegal, he is a forceful thing to threaten the neighbors with. But he has felt the lure of the great clown herds. Purchase price does not include possible retrieval.

COLLATERAL BENEFIT

On nights of the full moon, the clowns come out. Circuses, fairs, even clown-o-gram operations close. Clowns act as though they have never seen the moon in full-face. Some of them fire water daisy shots at it, undeterred when the water arcs, crashing on fellow clowns. Normally a blur of activity, most of them are so still that boys, on dares, slip up behind them and steal from their pockets ten foot handkerchiefs, pilfer an exploding cigar or two. We no longer try to fathom it.  We at least know one night every lunar cycle where our mischievous children are.

FAILURE’S SUCCESS

The clowns return time and again to this arm of the woods. Townspeople suspect that Old Mother Clown resides there, beyond correction and remorse, spinning new circus routines for her children, comforting some by allowing that performance at children’s parties is nonetheless clownery. They stay awhile, perhaps prove their respect, leave. No one knows for certain, nor exactly where, though a few ambitious town teens have donned clownware and attempted to slip in with a passing fancy of clowns, tag along unsuspectedly to find Mother Clown’s lair. Never successful, it is always a good story played against a reluctant date.