Geiger Counter


February 28, 2019

When I paid for my clown nose, the woman behind the counter began stuffing it into a noisy little brown paper bag.

“No thanks,” I said, waving at her in friendly dismissal. “I’d like to wear it out of the store.”

As I strolled out the door, passing a chipped and rusting trash can on which perched a Pierrot, I tried to place the new nose onto the tip of my old one.

It immediately popped off, so I picked it up off the ground and jammed it more firmly onto the tip of my face. The opening was surprisingly tight and shallow, and in order for it to stay on, the nose had to be lodged fir...

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