The bright orange and camo dashiki seemed as appropriate on Duron's white skin as a bastard child might seem at a family reunion. However, on this day, this time, he was marrying a 120 year old African princess for her money and, despite her budding decrepitude, would wear whatever pleased her.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The minister waxing poetic about the beauty of timed relationships and the importance of binding arbitration. He glanced down as a lizard skittered across the man’s shoe and disappeared under a mossy rock. Looking up at the Jumbotron he saw himself in his detachment. What do I care, he thought. Five years isn't such a long time when one could live to be 150 or more, and rich.
At 90 years old and still in his prime he inwardly praised all scientific advances and outwardly said -- for the thirteenth time in his life -- I do.
No comments:
Post a Comment