Just Some Punk

After swallowing down everything she felt but the anger- the desperation of wanting to escape this place, of wanting to see her parents again or live a world she liked, just for one day- the girl approached Bozo as nothing but the barest essentials of her id.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

For some reason, doing this made Frankie quite mean. Maybe it was the dark makeup, but she didn’t necessarily feel like trying manners on the middle-aged man. Lowering her voice slightly, she made sure he wouldn’t recognize it.

He glared upwards. Who is this punk? Not a great first impression, but it wasn’t really their first and that one involved something far worse than cold words. He kept talking, if only to defend his pride.

“You don’t recognize me, is that it?” He scoffed. “That’s a surprise. With so little to do, I thought a brat like you would at least watch the news.”

“Sorry I don’t spend all my time sitting in the corner of an attraction staring at the kids as they walk by.”

Bozo’s daily depression was escalating into a nostalgic anger.

“If you don’t have anything of value to say, you’d have better leave before I show you firsthand exactly who I am.”

Frankie shook her head.

“I couldn’t care less who you are. Not like I want you to know me. Look, I’m here for tokens, asshole. You think I’m doing a school project on social rejects?”

She wasn’t sure what she was doing at this point. When she let her emotions flow naturally through her speech, without the risk of her being known as the one who said the things she did, the girl was more aggressive than even the worst people she’d ever known. Frankie wondered if, maybe- deep down, this was how she was, or wanted to be. After all, she had nothing but hatred for the things around her. The off friend or family member was but a small reprieve from how much she despised this vomit-inducing world. Come to think of it, this is exactly how she always acted- whenever her life was at risk or she thought things had taken a turn for the worse.

“You want my tokens? I hope for your sake you’re betting and not making some crass attempt to rob me.”

“I’m betting. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“If you wanna bet, let’s bet.” He finally stood, though he was still looking up at her from a decent few inches below. “200.” He declared.

“250.” Frankie rose. “No… 254. Oh, I’m sorry. Do you even have that much?”

“254. That’s all you have, isn’t it?” He struck a grin.

“Every last one. I want to maximize my earnings when I crush you.”