He takes a long and proud bow before rushing behind the curtains’ red majesty. At least, in his mind he’s allowed to do that; a clown can never cry before the public, or the dripping tears against his white make up would wash away his mask of happiness, the sole altruistic purpose of his existence. So he laughs instead and when he does it, his two cheeks blow up like two puffy balls lining up with the bigger red one, the round, funny nose, practically a declaration of joy for all the kids still believing in the world’s smile. Like Santa Claus’s white bird, a clown’s red nose is there to cover all the world’s underneath lies about human being’s cruelty. No, they actually don’t exist. That’s why clowns laugh, to believe that every night there’s still an audience willing to accept his smiling world as the curtains’ red majesty opens up again.
