I got really really lazy with this one.
I now have a place to live. Astoria, Queens represent! Home of a lot of Greek people, county with the most diverse population in America and stomping ground of at least one crazy Korean dude.
TOP TEN THINGS FOR THE MOMENT
What Martin realized too late was he never wanted to be a clown. He looked at his hands. They were caked with mud. He lumbered up from a lying position, squinting to catch focus on surroundings. There was noise -- laughing, music, some yelling. Mexican kids. A pinata. The smell of corn tortillas.
Someone helped him up. Marta, he remembered. He noticed her when he arrived to the boy's birthday party and had been stealing glances of her the whole day. He made her a balloon heart for her and the kids teased her. He had been looking at her when one of the kids swung and missed the pinata. That's when he blacked out.
He felt embarrassed. He feared the heat from his blushing would melt away his face paint and expose his bashfulness.
"Thank you," he stammered. And he walked off.
Martin came into clowning through a friend of a friend. He needed the money and acknowledged his collection of vintage lunch pales would not appreciate in value concurrently with the rising cost of living. Making people laugh was okay, he thought, but in all honesty he preferred laughing.
He walked into the office. Mauricio, his boss, looked at him with incredulous outrage.
"What the fuck are you doing back here? You're supposed to be at the birthday party! Get your ass back there! I'm not paying you for this!"
"Fine. Don't pay me. I quit."
I never wanted to be a clown anyway, he though.
Mauricio pivoted his entire body and re-aimed his anger at Manny, the friend of the friend.
"You! Bringing in these fucking bums who don't know shit! This is a business! Get out of here! You're fired!"
Manny, in full clown garb, opened his mouth and eyes wide in dismay, speechless.
"That's right smart shit. Get the fuck out. Now!"
Manny and Martin were pushed out into the street, the clown clothes ripped off their backs, holding their jeans and T-shirts, paint still smeared over their face.
"Manny, I"m sorry."
"Sorry? I have no job. This was a good thing for me, man. Now what do I do?"
Indeed, Martin thought. What is it I want to do, or be, if it is not clowning? It couldn't be... could it mean... ? No, Martin thought, I promised I wouldn't do that anymore.
Later that night, the two acquaintances drank beers and commiserated. Manny met a girl and went home with her that night.
Drunk and feeling reckless, Martin came home and opened up a box the size of a guitar case from under his bed. He opened it and beheld Meredith, a huge very impressive sniper gun. Martin took it up to his apartment building's roof and aimed it at some sign or billboard that has topical or thematic significance.
"I never wanted to be a clown."
The next day, Martin woke up shivering on the rooftop. He got a phone call. Manny was shot. The girl he slept with that night was Mauricio's daughter. Mauricio came home from his own debaucherous night to see his little girl being deflowered (or so he thought) by a scumbag loser like Manny. Mauricio aimed a revolver he kept in his home at Manny, shot twice, but missed. Mauricio was taken away by the authorities.
Mauricio's five deadly brothers found about the case and word got out that they were looking to take Manny's blood.
Then some crazy shit happened.
Martin finds a job and love. He ends up being a clown in the end.
TOP TEN THINGS FOR THE MOMENT
- Taking extremely, extremely copious notes on everything I do
- Cooking and cleaning is fun
- Wine every night
- No furniture in my apartment! It's so empty and lonely.
- Motherfucking investment bankers
- Stealing my neighbor's wireless internet. Thank you!
- My editor and an editor nearby both asked me, "We're ordering Mexican food. What do you want?" And I said, "Um, do they have carnitas?" And I just get blank stares. "Carnitas. It's just pork." She talks into the phone. "Do you have, carneedas?" She looks back up. "Um. You're going to have to get simpler on us. I don't think they have carneedas." Huh, you don't say. "Just... um... a chicken quesadilla." Worst chicken quesadilla ever.
- I just realized the only piece of furniture I have is a bed.
- Dismantling two smoke detectors.
- No TV + Boredom = I'll rewatch seasons one through three of Newsradio.
What Martin realized too late was he never wanted to be a clown. He looked at his hands. They were caked with mud. He lumbered up from a lying position, squinting to catch focus on surroundings. There was noise -- laughing, music, some yelling. Mexican kids. A pinata. The smell of corn tortillas.
Someone helped him up. Marta, he remembered. He noticed her when he arrived to the boy's birthday party and had been stealing glances of her the whole day. He made her a balloon heart for her and the kids teased her. He had been looking at her when one of the kids swung and missed the pinata. That's when he blacked out.
He felt embarrassed. He feared the heat from his blushing would melt away his face paint and expose his bashfulness.
"Thank you," he stammered. And he walked off.
Martin came into clowning through a friend of a friend. He needed the money and acknowledged his collection of vintage lunch pales would not appreciate in value concurrently with the rising cost of living. Making people laugh was okay, he thought, but in all honesty he preferred laughing.
He walked into the office. Mauricio, his boss, looked at him with incredulous outrage.
"What the fuck are you doing back here? You're supposed to be at the birthday party! Get your ass back there! I'm not paying you for this!"
"Fine. Don't pay me. I quit."
I never wanted to be a clown anyway, he though.
Mauricio pivoted his entire body and re-aimed his anger at Manny, the friend of the friend.
"You! Bringing in these fucking bums who don't know shit! This is a business! Get out of here! You're fired!"
Manny, in full clown garb, opened his mouth and eyes wide in dismay, speechless.
"That's right smart shit. Get the fuck out. Now!"
Manny and Martin were pushed out into the street, the clown clothes ripped off their backs, holding their jeans and T-shirts, paint still smeared over their face.
"Manny, I"m sorry."
"Sorry? I have no job. This was a good thing for me, man. Now what do I do?"
Indeed, Martin thought. What is it I want to do, or be, if it is not clowning? It couldn't be... could it mean... ? No, Martin thought, I promised I wouldn't do that anymore.
Later that night, the two acquaintances drank beers and commiserated. Manny met a girl and went home with her that night.
Drunk and feeling reckless, Martin came home and opened up a box the size of a guitar case from under his bed. He opened it and beheld Meredith, a huge very impressive sniper gun. Martin took it up to his apartment building's roof and aimed it at some sign or billboard that has topical or thematic significance.
"I never wanted to be a clown."
The next day, Martin woke up shivering on the rooftop. He got a phone call. Manny was shot. The girl he slept with that night was Mauricio's daughter. Mauricio came home from his own debaucherous night to see his little girl being deflowered (or so he thought) by a scumbag loser like Manny. Mauricio aimed a revolver he kept in his home at Manny, shot twice, but missed. Mauricio was taken away by the authorities.
Mauricio's five deadly brothers found about the case and word got out that they were looking to take Manny's blood.
Then some crazy shit happened.
Martin finds a job and love. He ends up being a clown in the end.