He’d found it somewhere in the smashed up village.
A clown’s foam nose he shouts, popping the grubby red bulb on his own conk.
The younger guys laugh at Lafferty, in his greasy fatigues, the ridiculous nose stuck in the middle of his dirty face. But he and I, we’ve not been talking, so I ignore him.
Imagine that, he says, trying that hard so people like you; all that effort just to be an idiot.
Trouble is, he says, people fucking hate clowns. And he lobs the dirty orb back into the rubble.