Alas. There was one dark cloud over that strobey, multicoloured evening. My chicken went astray. He was a lovely lad, made of rubber. He was a gift that came to me all the way from San Francisco. He even had a certificate, certifying that he had been approved by the U.S. Department of Fowl Play. He had a hole at each end, and I had hoped to take him with me to hospital, when I go to visit my patients - to perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, and de-worming procedures. Sadly, it was not to be. Miss Rose thought it would be nice for him to make his debut at our Clown Show. Against my better judgment, I brought him along. That was the last time I saw him.
He was last seen in the hands of a little boy from the audience, who stuffed him happily into his bag, and took him home after the show. I don't know where he is now. I hope he's being treated well.
I put up signs all over the Alliance Francaise - "Lost! One Rubber Chicken. Please return to Gladys the Clown." But the world is a cruel place. And so they looked at my sign and they laughed.
Today I am a sad clown. A sad, chickenless clown.
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