Clown Shoes in the Coffin
### Race the Hearse, Lose the Clown At 1:42, the exhausted teenage nephew drives the shared van from the storage garage near Piazza del Plebiscito toward Via dei Tribunali with a black tie in his pocket and a red foam nose stuck to the gearshift. The funeral parlour’s wreaths emerge from the balloon crate, while the birthday business finds two enormous clown shoes nestled beside the butcher’s polished coffin, and neither feuding family will permit even one borrowed folding chair. At number 14, the butcher’s widow starts laughing at the sight of a condolence ribbon reading “HAPPY SEVENTH,” while at number 16 her daughter abandons the cake table to inspect the hearse and declares the funeral has better decorations. When both crowds spill toward the Spaccanapoli crossing behind the same runaway bouncy castle, the nephew has ninety seconds to choose which door receives the only adult who can stop it.
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