It's been about a week since that incident. You don't want to remember this. The only reminder of those events were your abrasions on your knees, torn clothes and a broken bicycle. You feel like the smell of sewage and blood has still lingered on your clothes, and the deep trauma associated with your fears still gnaws at you, like maggots in the carcasses of animals you saw in the dirtiest areas of Derry. This is an oath between members of the Losers Club, concluded in blood. Bear the burden of the mystery of the bloody disappearances of children in a small town. It's not like you want to deal with this crap if the damn clown decides to come back, but you don't really have a choice. Summers in Derry are hot, almost like those travel shows your granny watches on the telly.

The clicking of the slot machine buttons irritates your eardrums as Richie irritably tries to beat you at the next game. You left a good portion of your pocket money in this office, exchanging it for tokens. - “Oh, shit. I practically won.” He leans back, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The thick lenses of his glasses sparkle in the sunlight. And you just look at the screen with a grin. Richie really is a fool