I landed in Italy. Peak tourist season, hardly a true Italian to be seen. Instead, many children and mothers and fathers and elders and stray men and clusters of giggling ladies and all were outfitted as if they were torn right from the pages of an antique paper-doll book from the early 1900's. Infact, the only tangible sign that I was in Italy at all were the ancient and gaudy stone architectures that leaned menacingly over the cobble stone square where all these paper-doll tourist bustled.
That's when i noticed the tents--blood red, heavy canvas tents stained with black ash and soot from the city and they were scattered about the square--five of them maybe. I walked passed one that emitted a warm, welcoming yellow glow from it's open curtain. I walked passed another, darker tent with closed curtains but I could smell something icy, and decaying as I neared. So curious and almost grotesque was the smell that it became more alluring than even the previous tent.
I continued deeper into the square. I spotted a small gathering and moved in to catch a glimpse of what it surrounded. A small, stout man in vibrant rags and a dull red nose was pulling flowers from a women's hat. An onlooking young man snickered. The small clown whipped around to face the leer and as he did he grew and transformed into an enormous, vicious, hideous clown creature with fangs and claws and blood drenched lips. I gasped, but the crowd cheered.
...and I will finish my dream perhaps tonight. Until then, I hope this entertains at least a slight bit.