The man introduced his friend as Herbert the Clown, although his face was the colour of skin, and his hair that of itself and not of a lime. But his friend smiled and said “Eh, only at parties.” Only realising his mistake but so very late. And the host, with whom they were speaking, replied, “Well, what do you think this is?” And he squeezed his eyes shut, to imagine a safer place and quickly blurted, “Well, what I meant…” But to no avail.
For the remainder of the evening, jokes would be told about the clown in the human suit, to afraid to perform. In a corner, spine curved, his chin touching his tie, he stood alone but for Jack Daniels. And when someone passed, he opened his mouth to speak, perhaps releasing a syllable. They would smile or giggle and pass right by, to whisper with someone else. “Hey look, there’s the clown, Sherbet or something, by himself like a potted plant. Like a scared child.”