On Saturday there was a clown in my subway car.
He was in full clowny garb and running bits on the passengers. Being the person that I am, I sat down right across from him and spent the whole ride pretending not to be staring and taking in every single word. Good thing I had my book… (which was set in a circus, oddly enough.)
At the start of the train ride, he was mid-way through making a balloon dog for a young boy whose mom had plopped him on the clown’s lap. I guess the bright clothing and crazy makeup made it okay for her to hand her child over to some strange man.
After they got off (the train, gutterbrains) the clown continued on, looking for other passengers to engage. He succeeded with a particularly tough looking woman, who had perfected the New York FU stare. Lady straight up sat next to him and at his prodding, gave him a hug. All it took was a joke about how he wasn’t always a clown… he used to be a midget.
Then, a bookish looking woman got on the train and placed herself right in front of the clown. She was practically begging him to talk to her, and guess what… he did. He told her she would look good with green lipstick. She asked him why, and his response was “because that is what I am wearing.” Whose the creeper now?
Not soon after, the clown was on his way some children’s party, and normalcy returned to my commute. I returned to the book I had been pretending to read, while everyone else starting silently composing their anecdotes about the time there was a clown on their train. Everyone except for the two women, who had… other… things to talk about.