He sat on the corner everyday, reading his newspaper and smiling at the passersby. He’d been there for so many years that people no longer noticed his bright red rubber nose, oversized shoes, or even his painted face. He was just a ‘fixture’ they’d come to expect; like the fountain in the square, or the statue at the war memorial in the park.
Then, one day, he was no longer there.
The bench was empty.
Everyone noticed, then.
The local police department was inundated with calls and units were dispatched to investigate. No one knew who the clown was, or where he lived. The case was closed.
Miles away, in another city, a man dressed in baggy clothes with shoes that were several sized too large for him, stepped down from a plane with a newspaper tucked under his arm.
All around him, he saw people looking his way and smiling, even laughing. With ease, he crossed the concourse and took a seat on an empty bench to read his newspaper.
The moral of this story: Sometimes all it takes is a change of Locale…