cc: All Clowns by Paul Toth

What Marty saw when he entered Brooklyn Doughnut that Friday morning broke his heart. His hands fell to his side. He did not "let them fall" or "relax them" or "unfold them" or "drop them at his sides."  The arms fell of their own accord and would have kept falling and bounced off the floor if not for anatomy's restrictions. Then he blinked and wiped his eyes, but the sight remained: The entire New York Clown Company wore khaki pants and button-down shirts.
     "What the fuck?" Marty said.
     "Aw, shit, he was out yesterday. Somebody should've told him."
     "Ya didn't get the memo, Marty?"
     "I just said he was out yesterday. Don't be a stupid fuck."
     "Shit, Marty. We're sorry."
     "What the fuck?" Marty repeated.
     "Marty -- Christ."
     "There was a memo, Marty: From now on, we get casual Fridays. Friday's always
slow, you know?"
     "Things change, Marty. You should be glad. Progress."
     "No," Marty said, removing his clown shoes. "Fuck it." He set the shoes on the table.
     "You're quitting? But we look good, don't we, Marty? It's like we got our dignity
back one day a week."
     "Dignity?" Marty said.
     He left his clown shoes on the table.
That night the other clowns reminisced about Marty.
     "Fuck him," someone shouted, pouring champagne in Marty's shoes. Then they
passed the shoes amongst themselves and drank until they were drunker than Marty had been the previous Friday, when he said, "If for just one day I left these clothes at home, I could never look in the mirror again. My dignity couldn't stand it. I could never look at you no more, either. I'm just a clown when I'm in clown clothes. You're clowns in spirit.Assholes."
     When they finished the champagne, they took turns pissing in Marty's shoes, then
sent them to him via UPS. Thus, Marty's memories remained boxed and semi-forgotten until he walked past Brooklyn Doughnut one week later and saw that casual Fridays were no more.