Nothing Funny About the Hunt

Our desperate band has constructed a faux tiny car made from reeds and plastic shopping bags. The trap is baited. We wait.

Tonight… we feast on clown flesh.

My brothers and sisters, adorned in the scraps of civilization, skinny and tired from sleeping in drafty caved-in skyscrapers, hold their breath.

The warm haze never lifts. The city’s half under water.

But somewhere out there… we hear the honk of a red nose.

I was just thinking about clown cars, for whatever reason. Everyone knows the gag where too many clowns climb out of a tiny car. I started wondering: what made them all get in the car in the first place? So of course it wasn’t long until I was imagining some post-apocalypse scenario where a faux tiny car was built as a lure by cannibal children.