Some nights, Aubrey missed the circus with emotions so deep that it took bottles of whiskey and at least two packs of cigarettes to calm them. Years ago, his days looked different: morning coffee with Lorna, the bearded woman, then a snack with the lizard man, Yorris. He missed them deeply, wondered where they were now. After lunch with the fish man, Bradley, and a nap with the clawed woman, Yolanda, he’d grab his trunk and hit the stage. He knew where Bradley and Yolanda were now: dead, in the truck crash that took more of his friends than he ever knew he had.

He had his hand on his trunk now. His fingers, gnarled with age, rubbed against the handle. Although the gilded metal faded, it could still reflect his face and the sparkle of tears in his eyes.

“Old friend,” he said, grasping the front latch with a trembling hand. “I shouldn’t do this. They say to let it go, move on. Love your new life. But I miss you too much tonight.”

Tears fell on the old wood. In an instant, a vision flashed before his eyes: him, younger, drawing magician’s silks and doves and rabbits from the very trunk that sat before him. A smile on his face, so different from how he felt now. He opened the latch and looked inside.

The skull of Yolanda sat next to an envelope. The skull, he expected. The letter was new. He took it from the trunk and began to open it, running his finger under the saliva-sealed edge. He stopped.

“I can’t go back again,” he said, throwing his cigarette into the ashtray and following it up with the letter. The paper ignited.

He stared at the burning paper, wondering when he, too, would ignite in such a fiery blaze. _Maybe_ _tonight_, he shrugged.