2. My Trailer
I scuttled back to my trailer, the rain hammered down on me and my face paint melted off of my face, so that I looked like some sort of crying clown.
My trailer was erupting with noise, the rain smacked down on the tin roof and I made myself a hot chocolate.
A tap on the door.
Mr Marcus stood outside in the pouring rain, holding, well what looked like, a rent sheet.
"Here's the money!"
I handed him a three fifty pound notes that would keep me in my trailer for another two weeks.
Mr Marcus gave me my pay, for the last three shows. £200.
He grunted and went to the next trailer, slowly in his green loafers.
I shuddered, he made me sick. At ten in the night, I pottered down to the shop and bought some bread and squash.
Mr Marcus was in the line.
I couldn't quite see what he was holding.
But it was silver.