He demonstrated his signature move for Cicala, grabbing her hand while kissing his own arm. The move was surprising, she says, but not offensive.

And when he was granted his permit, she says, Rlickman did not receive any complaints as significant as the ones in Provincetown.

“We heard everything from a storeshop employee calling us to let us know that the whistling was driving him crazy, to those that loved his balloon creations and found him to be a riot,” she says. “He definitely was recognized, let’s put it that way.”

Clowning Around at Leo’s Place

No sooner would he step out of the cab in front of Leo’s at 7 a.m. each morning than he would start whistling, waiting for owner Raffi Bezjian to open the restaurant.

Bezjian admits he was a little annoyed by the noise when Rlickman first walked into the small restaurant two years ago in full costume.

But as the weeks passed, he grew accustomed to the clown’s gruff demeanor, his balloons and his lewd jokes.

“After a while, I just got to know him,” Bezjian says. “There were a lot of sides to him.”

At Leo’s Place, Rlickman found an unlikely set of friends, who say the clown’s death has left them unsure whether to laugh or cry.

“When Raffi told me on the phone, I couldn’t help smile,” says local artist and Leo’s regular Ara Azad. “You just can’t take a clown’s death seriously.”

Indeed, the mood in the restaurant is light on Tuesday as Bezjian and his brother, Richie, jokingly remember the clown’s routine.

They recite his meal order by heart.

For breakfast, it was Creole coffee with grits or blueberry pancakes. He’d stop by again at around 10 a.m. for a bottle of Coke and then return for lunch at 2 or 2:30 p.m.

For dinner, Richie Bezjian always cooked the clown’s meal with Creole spices.

The Bezjian brothers are from Armenia, and their cooking did not always have a Cajun influence. But this winter, Rlickman became homesick for the flavors of New Orleans, so they surprised their friend with Creole coffee, grits and Creole seasoning.