It had been almost a week since Arthur and Wendy first met each other. He didn't giver her much thought, though he wondered whether she found her uncle or not. He wondered if she meant it about seeing him again, though she probably forgot about him by now, which wouldn't have surprised him. Most women never liked him anyway, but then again, nobody liked him.

He sat in front of the mirror applying his clown makeup, getting ready to go do a job for a music store that was going out of business. His job was to stand outside and spin a sign to attract people's attention.

He stood out in front of the store, dressed up in his clown outfit and green wig with a little brown derby hat. His clown persona, Carnival, was happily holding the sign out in front of everybody, dancing merrily as they walked past him in the street. Everything must go!, the sign read. Very few paid him any attention, but Arthur didn't seemed too worried. He was only supposed to attract people in. He stood in front of the store, dancing happily and spinning the sign around like a professional. A very easy task, he thought. Even the man playing the piano right next to him seemed to help draw in a small crowd.

Just then, a gang of teenage boys came up to Arthur, one of them knocking the sign right out of his hands. The one boy stole the sign and ran off with it. His friends followed behind him.

"Stop! Stop them!" Arthur shouted. No one listened to his plea. And so, having no other choice, Arthur went running after them. It wasn't easy, especially since he was wearing those over-sized clown shoes.

The teenage boys ran down the sidewalk with the stolen sign and cut across the street in the middle of oncoming traffic. Arthur ran across the street, almost getting hit by a taxi cab in the process. He chased them down the block and saw them turn a corner. He slipped on his way into the alley, but stood back up and continued to pursue them.

Soon as he caught up with them, the one boy bashed the sign into his face, breaking it and knocking Arthur down to the ground. The juvenile delinquents then took part in kicking him and beating him up. Arthur covered the back of his neck and placed a hand between his legs, curled up into a fetal position while the teenagers abused him. Why they were attacking him out of all people, he didn't know. He had done nothing wrong to upset these kids. Why were they hurting him? He just didn't understand it. Soon as they were through, the teenage boys turned around and walked away, leaving the poor clown lying there in the alley. Arthur lied there on the ground, breathing heavily and suffering in pain. His body hurt all over and he assumed he was dying. The air was in his lungs, but he did not feel alive. He'd rather have been dead. The red flower on his lapel squirted out water, acting as though it were crying and sharing his pain.

In the midst of a conversation with his social worker, Arthur burst out laughing and coughed down on his attempt to control it. He cleared his throat and laughed again. The look on his face was one of sorrow and heartbreak. There were tears in his eyes. It was not a pleasant experience for him and he hated it every time he laughed for no reason. There were many times he wanted to cry, but the only sound that was allowed to escape from him was his laughter. He choked down on his laughing twice and put a hand to his throat and struggled to breath after his attack happened.

The social worker, Ms. Debra Kane, sat behind her desk and waited for him to regain his composure. Stone-faced and serious and never giving off so much as a smirk, Ms. Kane was very familiar with Arthur's condition. She acted as though she never gave a damn about him or any of her clients, but her job forced her to listen to their everyday struggles. Either way, she showed little to no sympathy.

"Is it just me, or is it getting crazier out there?" Arthur asked, his voice sullen and low.

"It certainly is", answered Ms. Kane. "People are struggling, looking for work. They're upset. These are tough times."

Arthur chuckled lightly.

"What about you?" Ms. Kane asked him. "Have you been keeping up with your journal?"

"Yes, ma'am", Arthur answered.

"Great. Can I look at it?"

Arthur didn't answer her that time. A knot developed in his stomach and began to twist and turn with anxiety. He looked away and took a long drag from his cigarette, remaining silent.

"Arthur", said Ms. Kane, "last time you were here, I asked you to bring your journal. May I see it?"

Arthur's right leg bounced up and down vigorously. His leg always did that every time he was nervous or anxious. He placed a hand on his thigh and balled a fist around the material of his pants. He smiled uncomfortably and ran a hand through his hair and held the cigarette between his lips as he reached down and took out his journal and handed it over to her.

"I've been using it as a journal, but also as a joke diary", Arthur explained.

Ms. Kane opened the journal and browsed through the pages filled with Arthur's most private thoughts. There were bad jokes and crude drawings on every page, there were even some clippings of naked women cut out from a porn magazine. Unfazed by the material, Ms. Kane continued to look through the journal, until she stopped on a page to read out loud a sentence written in sloppy, childlike handwriting: I just hope my death makes more cents then my life.

Ms. Kane looked at Arthur with mild concern. He, in return, lowered his gaze and laughed nervously. Ms. Kane closed the journal and set it down on her desk in front of Arthur.

"Arthur, how does it feel to come here? Does it help to have somebody to talk to?"

Arthur inhaled his cigarette, blowing out a small puff of smoke. He thought it over a while before he answered. "I think I felt better when I was locked up in the hospital", he said.

"Have you thought more about why you were locked up?" Ms. Kane questioned him.

"Who knows", Arthur responded.

Ms. Kane gave him a look of annoyance and picked up a pen and wrote something down on a clipboard.

Arthur brought the cigarette to his lips again, the tip glowing bright red before he blew out another puff of smoke. "I was wondering if you could ask the doctor to increase my medication", he said.

Ms. Kane pulled out a piece of paper from a folder and carefully looked over his medical record. "Arthur, you're on seven different medications", she said. "Surely, they must be working."

Arthur was silent for a moment, and then he told her, "I just don't want to feel so bad anymore."