That’s the way it is with clowns. They think they can make it till every cannon in the world blows up in their face, till every ball slips out under their feet. You start out life thinking you can do it. Nobody has got you down for pantaloons and colored hair because you’re just starting out. You haven’t vomited in the plane yet. You think, boy, I’m going to sail! Boy, I’m going to get out of that cannon with a flying roar! Boy, I’m going to get in that sky and really move! Your brother is sailing in the blue, your sisters are sailing in the blue, the whole God-clean world is sailing in the blue, and you’re fading out. You’re dimming. You’ve got a green head. You got purple eyes. Whoever is in, you’re out. You’re growing radishes in swamps, you’re doing it all wrong, nothing’s coming up. Maybe they won’t notice you’re dimming. You never make it. In or out. In or out. Right from the beginning. (Sound of a police car. HARRY picks up the statue of the stone-blind kid and puts it near his valise) Out on the ocean by tomorrow. The wind blowing clean. Skimming. Cutting the water like a knife. America. America.