The sound of a circus in the kitchen. A big top underneath the table. Ducking between the legs of grown-ups, towards the smell of sawdust and cotton candy.
Three rings down there, somehow. Eye contact with the ring leader who sends an assistant to take your hand, lead you to a spotlighted door.
Through the door and it latches behind with a click, a final click, and you’re in the Clown Room. The infinite space they dwell in until some reckless fool opens a clown car door.