Her bright hair flowed with the movement of the evening breeze, ruckus and screams from civilians drowning the sound of her voice singing along to the (awful and annoying) circus tune. She walked slowly but surely, yet happily. It was so obvious that she was hiding something. Even a mere bystander could tell.

“You know, Mr. Clown. I’m much like you. I like to hide my feelings too. It’s a whole lot easier that way, isn’t it?”

He didn’t agree because it was far from being easy. It was probably the most difficult thing he had to do (apart from putting on his of a costume).

“Yeah. It is,”

But he was just so good at it that he couldn’t seem to find a way to stop. So instead, he gave her a big round floating orange balloon and blew up another long yellow one. He twisted and turned it (and endured the screeching, squeaking noises that came with it) and placed it on top of her head.

The next day, she returned again, asking for another one in a different color.