“Amos T. Sandman,” I spoke from the side. “I kind of figured you’d end up in a circus.”
“Welp,” the colorful dancing clown replied, “I had no religion to preach any longer what with the demise of the Cheesers. What else was left for me? I have subjects; that’s the important thing. Right Fluffie, Spoilsport, Clyde?” he spoke to the various clowns around him presently. He danced in a circle (acknowledging each one?) toward the central top hat on a trunk, the cane, the cards.
“Turn it over, Baker,” he seemed to request about the mystery one before him. “See what *your* next subject is. I bet it’s not an ace. That’s already been done; that would be heading backwards.” He danced back forwards. “Or sideways or something, black and red, clubs and spades, doesn’t matter.” He picks up the cane besides the cards to augment the dance in spots. Then the top hat itself upon a next whirl. Then, a final twirl and swoop, the mystery card itself, which became all cards when turned over, instantly halting the charade. He had shown his true face.
Sunklands 