Pathetic clown

One of the things I both love and hate about New Orleans is the inevitable random encounters one must have with tragic characters. It's going to happen at some point in your trip, because the the place is dripping with freaks. When tourists and freaks collide it can get ugly, especially if said tourist is from the backwoods and dumber than a brick. I had the opportunity to experience one of these ugly collisions and it kind of broke my heart. Walking aimlessly in the Quarter, trying to find a decent bar to go into not overrun with meat-heads, we walk past a street performer dressed as one of those Harlequin? clowns. You know, black and white face paint, puckered lip, tear on the check. A sad clown. She was dancing some strange jig that involved freezing for a few moments between leg pumping. It was strange and a bit frightening, but I could tell she was giving it her all. She was working it, giving some good face. As I walked away, looking back several times, I noticed she was surrounded by some red-neck types with nasty gleams in their eyes. I didn't stay to watch, but I have a feeling they were trying to fuck with her. Here is this lady, just trying to make a few dollars by putting on, I must say, quite an original clown art performance. All her efforts were repaid with mean tourist tormenting. I bet they just stood there and watched her sweating and didn't tip her a dime. OK, so I'm being a little dramatic. But I felt for the clown lady. I felt her pain.