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Clowns

Gregg patted my foot when getting in bed tonight.

“Yep, I’m still here,” I said.

“Well where else would you go?”he asked.

“I don’t know, the circus? I could be a clown. The sad clown.”

“Nobody likes clowns,” he said.

“Well I didn’t say I’d be a good clown.”

“Is that why their sad clowns?” he asked. “Because nobody likes them?”

“Maybe,” I said.

Or maybe they just wear their sadness on their sleeve too make others laugh so their sadness could be good for something. I didn’t say that last bit out loud. I’m not sure why clowns are sad, I just know my introvert self would not be a good one.

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Posted by on February 5, 2018 in On Writing

 

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