The Clown.

The tinted window of the Ferrari rolls down slowly, the pedestrian passing on the street can't help but to look at the driver and let out a hearty chuckle.

"I didn't know being a clown got you a Ferrari!"

The driver chuckles, his wrinkled face is covered in white makeup, a squishy red ball fixed to his nose, a large and colorful top hat upon his head.

"What do you mean, you aren't getting paid?" He says, keeping a straight face, playing the grumpy clown role perfectly. The pedestrian lets out another chuckle.

"Is this for TV or something? Is this a skit for uh, YouTube?" The pedestrian asks, leaning down slightly to peer into the Ferrari.

"Oh I wish, but that's not the case. My grandson requested a clown out of all things for his seventh birthday, God knows why." Says the clown, his tone becoming more conversational.

"Well you're pretty funny, y'know. Maybe not for a seven year old, but teenage me would be very entertained" The pedestrian responds.

A few hours later the clown approaches the receptionist of the children's hospital.

"Another clown?" She says with a chuckle. "You're the fifth one this week."

"Clown? Where?" The clown jokes, looking behind himself excitedly. The receptionist chuckles once more.

"Go on through, Sir."

The clown replies with a polite "Thankyou."  He walks into the main hallway, the signs he reads on the walls sting his heart a little bit. "Chronic Disease Ward" A sign reads, he knows his first destination.

"Another clown? Jesus." The teenager says with amused annoyance.

"That's what the receptionist said." Says the clown, maintaining his witty, dry humor. "Well you already know the procedure, buddy. Dog or cat?" He asks.

"We're talking balloon animals here, right?" The boy asks, his curious gaze landing on the clown's entertainingly grumpy face. The clown replies with a reluctant nod. "I knew it! See, I've done this a thousand times, old man." The teen replies with attitude.

"Bad luck, you little shit, the only balloon I carry is textured and doused in lubricant." The boy laughs, his head falling back into his pillow.

"Finally! A clown that's funny, is that so much to ask?" The boy asks with a smirk. Internally the clown smiles, the teenager looked to be about fifteen years old, not a single hair on his shiny head, dark eyebags sunk below his brown eyes. He was proud to have made the boy laugh.

"Funny? I'm flattered, the wife describes me differently. 'You're a sad excuse of a man', 'It's tiny', etcetera." The boy laughs again. "She's trying to take the Ferrari in the divorce settlements, come on, I'll take you for a spin before that whore takes it from me." The boy sits up eagerly.

"Ferrari? Really?" He wouldn't believe the man normally, but the fact the clown encouraged him to get out of bed was convincing him.

"Hop up, you little bastard." The boy complied with a grin, swinging his legs over the side of his hospital bed. He wears a white shirt and some worn cotton shorts, he slides on a pair of slippers as he stands. He has a lanky frame, frail, but not worryingly fragile.

"What should I call you, old man?" He asks as he sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at the clown.

"Bubbles or something, I don't give a shit." The clown says with an utter lack of enthusiasm, the totally unfit name makes the boy giggle.

"You look like more of a Barry, or a Todd." The teen responds.

"Kid, call me whatever the hell is easiest to articulate, now get your lazy ass off that bed and onto the leather of my passenger seat."