In a busy Sunday market people scurried by a lone clown who was twisting balloons into different shapes to form animals and characters. Unlike his props there was nothing pumped up or inflated about him. It was as if nobody saw him, hurried as they were by the cold weather and the need to get to the next store, back to their cars, or wherever they had to be in such a hurry. Their lack of interest didn’t seem to trouble him. Instead he just carried on twisting and turning the balloons as if his craft required a stillness of mind and sharpness of concentration that one might ordinarily attribute to a surgeon or master clockmaker. Nobody seemed to notice the clown, but then again maybe that didn’t matter because he didn’t seem to notice them either.