“Make me a balloon animal.”

“I’m on my smoke break, kid. Go get some cake, or something.”

Chuckles takes a drag on the cigarette from the side of his mouth, so he doesn’t burn his bulbous red nose.

“My mom says smoking’s bad for you, and only degenerates smoke.”

“Listen up, Richie Rich, I didn’t move to LA to listen to some rich kid tell me I can’t smoke.”

“So why did you move to LA? To go to clown school?” The boy’s mocking makes the other kids laugh.

“This clown suit helps pay the bills, kid; at least until my pilot gets picked up.”

“ You’re an actor? I got an acting job for you, clown. Act like my mom’s paying you, and make me a giraffe.”

Chuckles presses his big red nose against the towheaded boy’s face and whispers where the other kids can’t hear. “I know where you live. I have seen where you sleep. I’ve dug through your dresser drawers and seen your shit-stained underoos.”