This mildly frightening clown head was the first thing looking at me when I went down the stairs into the basement. How long had he been sitting there, with his shattered ear and dully bemused expression? I wonder what sentiments the previous occupants had attached to this horrible bust. They must have been strong enough to feel obligated to keep this thing on a prominent shelf. It’s value was limited, however, as the clown did not make the final cut. He has since been trashed out.