The Temperature Drops Twenty Degrees clowns from the circus are running out of time they never really existed so it appears impossible that nothing could be worse than this everyone makes excuses for the happy fellows they have superhuman powers and suddenly you want to join them regardless of the consequences you don't want to work for the young deaf-mutes who silently discuss you at meetings and just keep drinking no matter what you feel ashamed you've been hired to kill the happy old ladies who drink blood they keep asking for water you try to hide from them clouds shaped like circus tents drift by you spy on the paraplegics with scarred bodies they ask unanswerable questions well, you can't stop wanting them no matter what excuses you invent you may as well forget your training the old clowns follow you everywhere they have asked about you your bosses never lie the hot night wraps around your throat and one of them tells you you can't escape your destiny while it's still dark exhibitionists who can't stop laughing dance slowly in the rain regardless of your feelings and written on the street in blood you see this, too, shall pass you can't believe wishing won't make it true clowns are subtly seductive they are only kidding and don't really exist there is a sudden silence and it seems unlikely you can't escape your destiny A. L. Lashmit