She had a part-time job as a clown. In the afternoons and during weekends she attended private parties and birthdays entertaining mostly children. Her hair was blue, but naturally red. She was a ginger kid but had no freckles. That helped growing up. She went to college, but never graduated. Her major was social studies. She didn’t know what she wanted to do, but loved children and from time to time was told she could be really funny. The clown thing was not her idea. A room-mate from school talked her into it and she started to like it. Her costume was pink and purple with big round pocket dots. She never married. She had no kids. Her lover’s name was Fernando. He was raised Jewish and his parents were from New Zealand. He never said much, but when pronouncing his name he always did it with a thick Latin accent even thought he was a pale white boy. She had a cat and a bike and a pair of Nikes from another time. She might have looked sad from the distance, but she wasn’t. Purposeless as she might seem, she was the happiest person I’ve ever known. She died on a Sunday afternoon. Her funeral was attended by thousands of people, mostly children holding blue and red balloons.