Chronic juggling – the hidden killer.
I thought becoming a suave circus ringmaster from the wrong side of the tracks would solve all my problems.
But now everyone wants me to fix their problems instead!
Just yesterday I had to counsel an agoraphobic trapeze artist, settle an argument for a troupe of mimes and stage an intervention for a chronic juggler.
I mean sure, I might hide a heart of gold behind my coolly calculating veneer.
But even a hat this tall has its limits!
Sorry, Reverend. Listen to me complain about helping folk.
You must have it worse than anyone, right?
Actually, you’re the first visitor I’ve had in weeks.
Oh yes. I think it’s something to do with that sign I put up outside.
God Probably Doesn’t Care. Sorry.