Is that her, the clown?
Someone asked me that.
I said, "I don't know, I don't know.
In fact, who was the clown who was supposed to be my girlfriend?
It could have been him.
No, it couldn't have been him.
I had known for a long time that she was going to play a clown.
But in reality, she didn't look like her, she looked like a clown herself, and I couldn't tell who she was.
It's not her, but it's not him either.
That's a clown.
That's all I could think, I thought.
The clown was dancing, looking at me, bathed in the light of the sun.
He didn't have the look of someone who knew me.