There's a man, maybe in his 30s, sitting out behind a building on a crate. There's a cigarette dangling from his mouth, and a pensive, almost numb, look on his face. He's all dressed up in a clown costume and makeup; but the utterly depressed look on his face makes him look more like a Juggalo than a party clown.

He notices you pondering the juxtaposition of the clown on a smoke break, and he calls out in a gruff voice.

Whaddya want, kid? I'm busy.