Where have all the sad clowns gone?

She typed, “I just helped a friend move into their apartment. The next day they found 37 clowns under their porch.”

She watched the cursor blink. She tried to time her eyelids to match, with mixed success. Finally, she closed her eyes and just typed.

I came back to help her unpack, and cart away empty boxes. She met me at the door, grinning. “Close your eyes! I have actually found something you don’t know about this place.” I smiled back, shaking my head.

“Hello,” I said pointedly, “I’m good, only a bit sore from carrying boxes around yesterday, how’re you?” She laughed, pulling me into a hug. After a greeting and contrite kisses I let her cover my eyes and lead me to the back porch.

“You are not going to believe this,” she giggled, “And I’ll bite you if you claim you knew and didn’t tell me. This is just too weird!”

I smiled as she led me. She removed her hands, letting me see the clown dollies piled under the porch. Her triumphant, “Ta dahh!” faded as memory robbed me of my senses.

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