Don't laugh

“Aha, ahem,” the man sputtered, attempting to control himself. “I’m sorry sir, you just…took me by surprise.”

Simon glared. “Speak up,” he snarled. “I’ve got a gig in an hour.”

“Well sir, I was just wondering if you would be interested in some-”

He slammed the door in the salesman’s face. “Go fuck yourself,” he said to the door.

He went back to applying the rest of his make-up. He opened a worn bright orange briefcase and pulled a red ball out of it. He pulled it open and pushed it onto his nose where it squeezed. He knew it would be painful after only an hour and the gig was going to last four hours but there was nothing for it.

He put on the bright clothes, faded after so many years. He put on the rainbow wig, the floppy shoes and the red gloves. He looked at himself in the mirror and sighed. He’d once enjoyed it, making others laugh. That joy had faded with everything else but there was nothing else to do. He was broke.

“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,” he whispered to himself.

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