Twentieth Century Clown
(VO)Morgan Freeman as Dead Rabbit:
Everyone has a past.
And everyone has stories from their past. Some of them matter. They have a significant weight on the world. The implications of their actions become a weight that echoes and emanates throughout time. Some figures polarize these stories - draw them in.
These people become more than themselves or their stories. These are the lives of legends. Each step watched and rewatched and replayed on and on through time. Each word will be listened to and studied and repeated and echoed. Their mere existence...immortal.
However, there are some that are not so extraordinary.
This is their story.
Earlier This Year
“Yeah, I have no idea where she went, officer,” Violent Mist looked over to his often found partner, Macho for some back up.
“Yeah!” he agreed. The group stood huddled around the officers who showed them pictures of people they've never seen in places they've certainly been. Bloodied, beaten, mangled, the secret lives of clowns lain bare before their eyes.
“In Mother Russia…” Hans began to tell the officer, driving him through the deep snows of Moscow to his childhood. Where he and his family grew up with little money. His mother, father, three brothers, and now he had to take to the fields and walk thirty miles in the harsh Siberian winters…
The officer with the dimpled chin held up his hand to halt the giant from speaking.
“Is there a punchline somewhere in here, chief?”
Jason slides the mask back from his face, offering to speak up for his friend.
“We have no idea of what Jacky did or where Jacky went. The last we saw….”
(VO)Morgan Freeman as Dead Rabbit:
The officers finished up and left the six friends alone in the locker room. Here they were: without a job and even worse, they had publicly hitched their wagon to the clown, who had conveniently skipped town. The Masked Debaters, longtime members of Baltimore’s Carnage Wrestling, the Crustacean King, Jason Lmoa.
Jason began to fish around in his bag for a snack.
(VO)Morgan Freeman as Dead Rabbit:
Hans Ondikovitch or Hans Ondik for short.
The mountain of a man stood with his hands on his hips. He was in a better time, a better place in his own mind: Russia.
(VO)Morgan Freeman as Dead Rabbit:
Violent Mist.
Violent Mist slammed his hand hard into the locker, his satin cape swirling.
"This is bullshit!"
(VO)Morgan Freeman as Dead Rabbit:
His best friend and sometimes sycophant Macho Libre.
“Oh Yeah!”
(VO)Morgan Freeman as Dead Rabbit:
The Infamous Garbage Fence, master of the dumpster dive.
“Garbage!” yells Garbage Fence in agreement. Johnny Love cannot help but laugh.
(VO)Morgan Freeman as Dead Rabbit:
And Johnny Love, the lesser known savior of Catalina Cortez, all had some decisions to make.
“It’s like...you know? Shoots and Ladders. Stairway to Heaven, Highway to Hell, man…” he lights up a joint, his hand shaking. Macho Libre closes the door, leaning into it to help keep the smoke in should the cops still be around.“We all got on. We all took the ride.”
The room goes silent again.
They understood the implications. Jaclyn Pierrot, the Ragdoll, had just tried to shoot someone live on television. They all knew she meant it. She said she would do it and she did, or at least she tried. Johnny took another drag - he also understood the implications. If she would do that for a belt and some money? What would she do to the man who swapped out her gun.
The pictures of the two mobsters raced in his mind. He laughed again, rising to his feet. With the ground, wobbling beneath him, he steadied himself against a locker.
On life support.
“Hey so guys, I hate to be the one, but…” he made a half hearted attempt to pick up his guitar. The room was closing in on him. He had to escape.
We found most of the brick still lodged inside his face.
Johnny shoved his way out, pushing Macho away from the door. The joint was still lit in his mouth as he flung it open. He had to get out - he had to leave Baltimore.
Still at large.
Hans turns to the group as the door slowly swings shut.
“In Mother Russia…” he began...
Modern Day
The sun is just coming up as the #3 Black Escalade comes sailing into the field. A spattering of early rising volunteers is barely able to dive out of the way as it comes barreling by. It fishtails back and forth before skidding to a halt. The back right passenger door flings open.
“I swear to fucking God,” Pisces shouts back towards the driver’s seat, “Stop letting this bitch drive!”
Honking laughter spills from within as she slams the door shut, trudging past the slowly recovering crowd. A woman wearing a black PTA fanny pack starts to step into her way, but the dark circles under the steaming mad woman’s eyes make her think otherwise. The doors all swing open once more, Jaclyn Pierrot, Daedalus, and Tempest step from within. Behind them, the older truck groans slowly through the field, towing behind it a large trailer.
Joyce Grayson, president of the PTA, turned towards the group. She pulled the fanny pack straight on her wide hips, shimmying over towards the SUV.
“Well you have some nerve…” she starts, but the clown faced woman stops inches away from her. The golden eyes, glistening in the sun, are wide and excited as they lock with hers.
“Hiya!”
Joyce looks behind her to the team slowly trickling in behind her. Their presence brings new strength as she steps back, straightening her blouse. She clears her throat.
“Missy, I don’t know who you are…”
“Who am I?”
The small group begins to murmur.
Jaclyn looks like she's thinking. She taps her chin, looking from Joyce to the crowd then back again. For a second, Joyce can’t help but notice that the clown smells exactly like fried oreos. That is, of course, until she suddenly rams her forehead directly into the bridge of the president of the PTA’s nose. Blood begins to freely pour down her mouth as she drops to her knees.
“My name is Jaclyn motherfucking Pierrot,” she says to the horrified crew. The .44 magnum better known as the Aristocrat appears in her hand as she walks towards them. The truck pulls to a stop just behind them, blocking their retreat. The massive form of Kosner forces his way through the frame.
“And I’m the new chain of command around here,” Kosner begins to unlatch the doors to the trailer. One of the volunteers makes a sprint for it. Despite his choice of loafers and knee length khaki shorts, the man is surprisingly quick. He is able to get just past the monster of a man, but the irons in Kosner's hands lash out, wrapping tight around his neck. The retreat is ended by swift tug and a sudden thud. The spool is wound back up, but the man lays still.
“Or rather,” Jaclyn continues, walking towards the group, “These are the chains we will beat you with if you do not do exactly as we say.”
“We’re just volunteers,” stammers someone from the group. Jacky begins to narrow in on the voice, shifting her way through them. The crowd, quick to give up the owner, step away. He holds up his hands in surrender.
“Yeah?” He looks around himself for help, but his allies have slowly begun to slink away. He nods.“So are we.”
Her forehead cracks against his nose. He joins Joyce on his knees, screaming in pain. The remaining crew looks on in horror.
“Anyone else want to volunteer an opinion?” She is met with silence. Her arms cross across her chest and she nods her head, proud of herself. Tempest steps up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist. His lips brush across her neck, causing her to erupt in giggles.
“Get that unpacked,” he says, pulling her back towards the car. His fingers squeeze into her hip. Daedalus steps forward, his smile much more pleasant and inviting as he directs traffic.
(VO)Morgan Freeman as Dead Rabbit:
'No!'
'Absolutely not.'
Everywhere they went it was always the same.
“Sorry, we are not currently accepting applications.”
Violent Mist throws his hands up into the air, pointing over a large, professionally printed sign with the words, “Now Hiring” written across it.
“What!? The sign says you’re hiring!”
The middle-aged man with a split in the very middle of his wiry moustache looks it over, before turning back, shrugging at the group. Violent Mist, already burnt from the hours of driving with the windows of their 1971 Winnebago Brave down, begins to crimson. His fist balls up and Macho wraps an arm around his friend.
“This is bullshit!” he shouts as he is led away.
“Yeah!”
As the group begins to move back towards their vehicle, Macho drags Violent Mist by his arm. The purple luchador continues to have a staring contest with the balding spot on the back of the man’s head. Hans catches hold of Garbage Fence's collar, dragging him along with the group
“Collections!” he wails, his eyes wide with longing, hands reaching towards the bin.
The quarrelsome quintet sits in silence in the back of the camper. Macho has wedged his friend against the wall, who still seethes and fumes with rage, muttering, “Not Accepting applications” to himself over and over. Jason laughs to himself, desperately.
“Well, I thought that was fishy!” offers the Crustacean Sensation.
Mist stops mumbling, looking over: “What?”
“I’m just saying, this would have been a fin-tastic oppor-tuna-ty.”
Jason continues to smile, however, his teammate does not join him.
“Fuck you.”
“I-”
“Fuck you, fish boy!” he tries to rise but Macho leans into him, leaving him only able to gesture and point as he continues. “Fuck your stupid fish puns and your stupid fish facts and your fucking-”
He pushes against his partner’s face, trying desperately to get past.
“This is a goddamn RV! What kind of piece of shit cooks flounder?!”
“Okay!” Jason says, holding up his hands. He looks around the room, the flailing man temporarily halted, “I’ll switch to cod.”
The pair of luchadors land on the floor, Violent Mist landing on top of Macho Libre. He reaches for the taller man who stands up and steps away.
“Please,” says Hans from the door, “Let’s not fight!”
After a moment, the violet wrestler settles down. He pushes himself to his feet, assuring his friend he is fine. He swipes his cape behind him.
“Right. Well...we’re out of options, out of money, and almost out of gas. Any brilliant ideas?” Jason starts to speak but the dark, brown, glaring eyes stop him.
“Well,” Hans starts. He pulls a cardboard box out from beside one of the warm benches, dropping it on the table. Written in sharpie along the side is the word Jacky. He pulls a Umarex UZI .22 from within.
“In Mother Russia…”
The volunteers have been working overtime throughout the day under the watchful eye of the Creeps. Joyce and her partner in pain have rejoined the group, thick shiners standing as stark reminders to those around them of what could happen if they decided they had an opinion. Those who thought they had a choice? The man who had made a run still lays lifeless beside the trailer, birds pecking playfully at the body.
Jacky sits cross legged atop a crate. Despite the dire circumstances, members of the youth group continue to laugh and joke, stopping only long enough to avoid the ire of the Red Triangle Gang that circulates through the crowd. A thin girl in a Scooby Doo sweater with pink pigtails stands apart from the pack. She does her best to laugh along when they do, only to stop when their judgemental glances glower in her direction.
The lot walks by the clown, hardly noticing her. Someone stops and the girl runs straight into one of the older boy’s backs. There is a shove and slap, leaving the young lady shocked. The group crowds around her. Jacky bounces off the box.
“Hey!” Jacky steps between them. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The boy begins to explain himself, but a hand inches from his face halts him. Jacky turns to the girl in the Scooby Doo sweater.
“It was an accident.”
“No it wasn’t!” she points towards the young man, whose smug smirk drops, “You gotta twist his dick!”
His face drops.
“Kick him in the dick?”
Jacky shakes her head.
“Nope! Give him the old,” She turns to one of the male volunteers who is walking by. Taking but a single step, she drives her right hand directly between his legs, taking hold. With a flick of her wrist, he screeches and crashes to the ground. “Dick Twist.”
Simultaneously, Joyce and the boy say, “Danny!” and ”Dad”. With a shrug, ‘dad’ turns to “daddy” as the girl raises the boy’s pitch a few octaves and he lands beside his dad. Joyce rushes over, dropping between. Her hands search for any way to soothe their pain. Both men shove her hands away.
Jacky nods over at her.
“See?” the girls skips away. Daedalus steps from the crowd and over the pair of writhing bodies. Joyce does her best to shield them. There is a crash and a scream and the massive Kosner appears. The monster of a man’s foot lands right on Joyce's ankle and there is a crunch. She screams in pain.
“Kosner!” Daedalus says, but his expression betrays his joy. Jacky takes stock of the volunteers. Three lie wounded at their feet. Others were beginning to drop. One man makes the mistake of bumping into Kosner as he stares at the family and he joins the president of the PTA in a duet.
“We’re gonna need more bodies.”
The monster begins to move towards the downed volunteers, but Jacky grabs hold of his arm.
“Warm ones.”
Daedalus, ever the strategist, nods his head. He takes hold of his friend who has now changed focus to the clown, dragging him along: “I have an idea…”
(VO)Morgan Freeman as Dead Rabbit:
Desperate times called for desperate measures. The Masked Debaters, unable to make money the way they knew how, decided to take a page from their old partner’s playbook. Only they found out, armed robbery wasn’t as easy as it seemed.
The door to the Winnebago swings open and the group piles in. Hans slides behind the wheel. He puts it into gear just as the purple pugilist pulls the door shut. The sound of the semi-automatic’s gunshots ring out behind them. They hit the floor, the driver ducking down his head. The back glass shatters as they pull away from the Gulp and Go convenient store. They remain on the floor until the gunshots can no longer be heard. Violet Mist's head pops up, his voice cracking as he shouts.
“What were you doing in the trash?!”
“EHEHEHEHHEHEHEHE!”
A bag, plucked from the gas station's garbage bin, is waved between the two. Violent pulls it from Fence's hand, throwing it back into his face.
“Relax, we had masks,” Jason says, attempting to reassure him.
“We always have on fuckin masks!! And you! What the fuck we're you doing?”
“I was looking for goldfish!”
“So, did you get them?”
Jason looks towards the worn carpet. He shifts around a piece of lint that has lodged itself between two fibers of carpet with his foot.
“Jesus fucking Christ...well at least we got gas…” The purple luchador turns towards Hans. The mountain of a man clutches tightly at the wheel. “We got gas, right?”
“Well...in mother Russia,” he begins only to be drowned out with the screaming from Violent Mist.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!”
The Frightful Imaginarium!
It’s nighttime in Long Grove, Illinois. Word has begun to spread of the fun and festivities and fervor happening. The lines have grown longer and the guests are more impatient. Torn and discarded tickets, cups, and plates line the field around the various booths. Jacky has settled in by the Toxic Dunk and is currently in the process of heckling the weary Joyce who sits in the hot seat.
“I just want to go home…” she says, shivering.
A baseball hits the button square on, causing the woman to drop into the cold water. The bandaging around her ankle loosely floats in the murky water behind her as she struggles to reach for the seat.
“We’re just starting to have fun.”
The woman pulls herself up, shivering. Another contestant steps up.
“Please...I have money.”
“Yeah?”
Joyce nods her head. She sniffles, her hands doing their best to swat away the matted tangle of hair that keeps trying to fall in front of her face. Jacky walks towards her, pulling the wad of bills up for her to see.
“Me too, bitch,” she flings them towards the startled PTA representative, her hand slapping the button. There is a splash and more scurrying from within the tank. The seat doesn’t come back up. The splashing becomes more frantic. Jaclyn frowns, storming over to the machine.
“Help, please…”
The clown shoves the woman’s hand away, focusing instead on the mechanism that allows the chair to return to place. Desperate for survival, the woman latches her arms around Jacky’s neck. The joker pulls a wad of bills from the water, shoving them into Joyce's mouth, but the woman's hand keeps hold of the pink pigtails, dragging the Creep back into the water.
The PTA President is able to lift herself over the lip of the pool, only to be pulled back in. Flipping and flopping in the bin, the two wrestle for position. Joyce once again begins to crawl up the ledge. Jacky goes to stop her, but a foot in the face drives the clown back.
Joyce flops to the mud below, landing hard on her side. She frantically pushes herself up and begins to hobble away, only for her leg to give way. Jacky appears at the edge of the tank, her gun now in hand. She aims it and fires. The PTA representative closes her eyes. There are screams and a scramble from the crowd.
Click.
They open. The two share a moment of realization, recognizing that the gun is wet and therefore will not fire. Joyce takes the opportunity and scrambles away. A mocking laughter cuts through the mob. Pisces, still sitting at her booth, slaps at her knee.
Jacky's eyes narrow. Without a thought, she picks up one of the baseballs, hurling it towards the cackling woman. It connects hard with her chest and she spills from her seat. A blue raspberry slurpee spills all over her and the laugher and the laughee change roles.
Roaring her feet, Pisces snatches an ax from the throwing station. She tosses it back, but Jacky ducks and it embeds itself into the center of Danny Grayson's chest. His face a mask of shock, he drops to the ground.
Panic and pandemonium set in.
The volunteers take their opportunity to slip into the pack as they scatter. Tents and banners are ripped down and somewhere someone lights a fire. Jacky rushes through the crowd with the ax wielding Pisces, fresh hatchet in hand, right behind her. Donovan's children's clutch at his leg.
Through the chaos, Jacky spots the World Champion. She raises the gun again.
Click.
Still wet.
"I'll fuckin kill you, you bitch!"
Shit!
She makes haste away, doing her best to fall in with the restless mob. Somewhere, someone starts a fire. Buns of cotton candy are turned into burning torches which are thrown, spreading the carnage.
"You fucking monster…" a deep, labored voice says. Jaclyn Pierrot turns to find herself face to face with Danny Grayson. He is held up by his son. The axe, once buried in the chest wound that now bleeds freely, is in his hand. He gently pulls away from his boy.
"Now it's my turn."
Jacky raises her gun.
Click.
Fuck!
His hand gripping the handle, he raises it above his head. Jacky swallows deeply.
"Jacky!" a young girl's voice calls out. The clown turns to see the girl in the now torn Scooby Doo sweater. She holds a makeshift glass shiv in one hand, using the other she mimes like a claw. "Twist his dick!"
Right!
Jacky moves into the approaching man. Her hand engulfs his manhood through his pants and he pauses looking down. His eyes meet her golden stare. The Cheshire smile spreads across her face. For a moment, he can't help but note that she smells of licorice. The sound of something tearing invades his mind and he drops to the ground, a fresh hole in the front of his pants.
Jaclyn Pierrot steps back. The tents are on fire around her and she and the young woman exchange a nod. As the woman disappears back into the crowd, Jacky holds her prize above her head:
A fresh, hot bag of nuts.
(VO)Morgan Freeman as Dead Rabbit:
Out of money, gas, and options, the group was desperate. The needle hovered and hung like the sword of Damcoles over the E.
What should we do?
I don’t know.
Where should we go?
I don’t know.
Who can we turn to?
(VO)Morgan Freeman as Dead Rabbit:
Sometimes, desperate times…call for desperate measures.
We go find Jacky.
Coughing on the fumes, the camper crawled along the highway. The cabin was silent as it’s crew looked out the window to read the sign that read, “Camp Roberts: 15 miles. Gnaw Bone: 20 miles.”
The camera comes to life.
In the background, the once great Frightful Imaginarium flickers with the fires that slowly return it to where it came from. A thought. A memory. Jaclyn’s tub still stands, the water doing wonders to keep the flames at bay. In the middle of the pool, a sole figure floats, something dangling and flipping loosely from one of it’s limbs.
The new volunteers chase the old - the weary wealthy become victims of the wanton violence of the wandering. Through the roar of the fires, a scream cuts through the night. The Creeps stand in the center of the frame, Jaclyn Pierrot in front.
The trio of championships adorn their worn bodies, Chaos, Conquest, and the Cross-Hemisphere. Jaclyn Pierrot steps forward from the group, gesturing at the destruction around her.
“We don't belong here?”
A soccer mom frantically runs into the frame, her back on fire. Jacky stops, watching as she runs past.
“That's what they say, right? We do not have a place in this world, this world is not for us. We don't belong. Well…”
The sinister smile seeps into the corners of her cheeks.
“They were right about some things. There wasn't a place for us: they were right. There were no homes: they were taken from us. Our safety? Viewed as optional by the sovereignty. So we found places to hide. We stayed on the move. Our homes became different, day to day, and though we could rest our eyes for a while, we began to know these moments for what they truly were: an illusion of safety. We've been hated and hurt and hunted and through it all we learned from our scrapes and our scraps and our scars that sometimes when there's no place to go? You stand your ground."
There are gunshots in the distance. The group stands immobile.
"Well, in the land of the have and the have nots, we’ve served our time in the mud that you and your kind have slung at us. And we’ve taken that mud and spit and spackled together a kingdom of our own, right here in the middle of your precious Coalition. And now in the land of the haves and have nots? The haves?" Jaclyn raises the belt over her head, "Have not."
She shrugs, lowering it. Her eyes scan over the gold and leather.
“This is a funny thing isn't it. Everyone chases this little toy and yet here it is. It is in my hands and here you are now chasing along.” she flips it over her shoulder, “Well, run rabbit run, the more we go in these circles the more you can see who is really chasing who. I think in the world of hunters and prey, some would call this armor, but I call it bait.”
Jaclyn’s finger taps the metal. She looks down at the Conquest title and then up into the camera.
“I feel this belt would mean so much to you, wouldn't it? A man at the end of his story - trying to start a new chapter. Your heroic return to relevancy. Well, too bad this isn’t ten years ago, cause me? Today? At this time and for this title?” She holds up her slender bicep, flexing her muscles. “I'm tried, true and tested while you're just truly tired. But now, you’re testing not only our patience, but also risking your own reputation. When the match is over, what will they say about me? ‘Sorry chief: she's a tough competitor.’ What will they say about you, though? ‘I thought he still had it in him,’ and just like that a legacy becomes a laugh. After all, what kind of joker loses to a clown?”
There is the braying of laughter from the group behind her.
“They say, ‘Have not, want not’ and I have. You want. But what do you have to offer? You want to prove that you’ve got a spring in your step? You’re a legend and you’ve got a legacy? Well, I got a rocket in my pocket,” Jacky pulls her large .44 magnum from her waistband and waggles it in front of the camera dramatically, “but this doesn't matter and neither does all that, so it's really just a matter of time before that second wind becomes you winded and in second. Well, chin up chief, second place is a first place loser so at least you'll have that to hold on to.”
She aims the gun at the camera, makes a pew noise, then returns it to her waistband.
“So is this the beginning of where the story ends? You’ve been around for a while. You should be feeling the change. You can hear it, right? The whispers, the murmurs, the name Ragdoll, Ragdoll, Ragdoll rapidly replacing the relic before us?” The mob behind her mimics the chant. There are screams and howls and the group begins to build into a frenzy only to stop just as suddenly, “I get it. You did things, you’ve been places. Well, that was then and this is now. You had your time and you had your day and you’re gonna find out first hand - some things are better left in the past.
She motions to the two large men behind her, stepping back into them. Her hand runs along the front of the cumberband that each man wears.
“It’s a brand new era here at UGWC. The past is slowly learning where it’s place is. The future? Well, we’re front and center. And these belts and these titles and these glorious treasures that you seek? They’re in these bloodied palms - they hold together these bruised bodies.“ she spins around looking up into Tempest's eyes before turning back to the frame. “And we'll be damned if we give these up to you or yours.”
She pushes away from him, his hand clutching her dress. She giggles and spins, freeing his grip from the fabric. She bites her lip, her look lingering back on him briefly. She turns to the camera.
“Too bad, isn’t it? This is in my hands, so you'll have to find something else to fuel your midlife crisis. Something with less maintenance, less wear and tear cause right here and right now for this? The cheap thrill of your impending doom is all you'll have to show for your efforts. Is it this defeat or the next that we finally get to say goodbye to the great Centurion? Cause this Monday night?” I’m gonna break that newfound spirit. One week later? I'm gonna bury it.”
Jacky dangles the belt in front of her, bouncing it slightly.
“Run, run rabbit, chase the carrot, get the stick. I can not tell you how happy it makes me to see you, here, at this time for this title. With the right bait, you get the right prey. Hands together now, Centurion - I plan to be the one to rub your irrelevancy in your face. See, I want to be the first one to pin those shoulders to the mat with that new energy you've got so when they count one, two, three? Just like that, the past? The present? The future?” She flips the belt into the air, stretching it out between her two hands “You’re looking at it!”
Behind the group, the glass tub holding in the water that was once the Toxic Dump finally can take no more. The combination of the heat and the pressure cause it to shatter. The group turns as the water spills out and the once floating form comes to rest just outside of the frame. The person who was once holding the camera jolts backwards and the frame drops, looking up at the stars. It is lifted up to a close up of Jaclyn Pierrot.
“It’s the home stretch now, are you watching Donny? You should be.”
She holds the camera at arms length. There is another series of gunshots in the distance.
“After all, you have something that belongs to me and whether it’s capturing the key or conquering the castle, I’m coming and no legend or lord can stand in my way. So rest your eyes for a while, sleep tight Donovan.”
Chaos erupts once more as a car is set on fire. She pulls it in closer, smiling sweetly. She taps the belt on her shoulder.
“One day you’ll see this time and these challenges for what they truly were: an illusion of safety.“
She turns the camera to pan over the scene. The Creeps look on as the world they brought to life and then destroyed continues to burn. Montague stands taller, a joyful expression pressed into his face. Calling in the rest of the AstroCreeps had been a master stroke, and they’ve helped to accelerate what was little more than an optimistic vision into a fully realized enterprise and now, even more than ever, he understood this was something special. Something more.
This was beauty. This was art. It was worth living for.
And damned sure worth dying for.
There is another scream in the distance and the scene fades to black.
After Credits:
Miles of road were behind him. Miles ahead. He watched the cars pass by on the road beside himself, his hand clutching at his shoulder bag. It would be easy to hold out a thumb, catch a ride, but Johnny Love knew better. The clown could be anywhere, at any time.
He was better off alone.
Miles behind.
Miles ahead.
Johnny Love knew that would never be enough.
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