Summer in Shanghai boiled up a fever.
Two houses, alike in dignity, gathered to witness a union that would bind their great families together. The bride prepared to step into the spotlight, stealing one last glance in the mirror to confirm her tiara sat upright on the crown of her head. She breathed, once, twice, and began her journey down the aisle. But, as she stepped into the hallway, her maid of honor grabbed her hand, wide-eyed, and pulled her just outside.
She stood dumbstruck looking upon her betrothed, a male hand with a soft wrist stroking his jaw.
"What the fuck is this?" she said.
Two slim necks snap in her general direction. No one speaks.
"What the fuck is this?" she repeats.
What is it? It's the unintended consequence of endless hours packed into adjacent cubicles. It's the lingering musk of boredom and longing. It's the giving in that happens when you just can't live the life everyone tells you you should anymore. Then it's the late nights in dark bars chosen for remote locations.
It's the end of a conversation that started, what, a month ago? A year ago? And it always went the same way:
Groom: "This can't be for real. There are expectations. I have to proceed as has been planned for me."
Dude: *Dissatisfied but still horny*
But this Dude ain't just dissatisfied no more.
Two houses, alike in dignity, gathered to witness a union that would bind their great families together. The bride prepared to step into the spotlight, stealing one last glance in the mirror to confirm her tiara sat upright on the crown of her head. She breathed, once, twice, and began her journey down the aisle. But, as she stepped into the hallway, her maid of honor grabbed her hand, wide-eyed, and pulled her just outside.
She stood dumbstruck looking upon her betrothed, a male hand with a soft wrist stroking his jaw.
"What the fuck is this?" she said.
Two slim necks snap in her general direction. No one speaks.
"What the fuck is this?" she repeats.
What is it? It's the unintended consequence of endless hours packed into adjacent cubicles. It's the lingering musk of boredom and longing. It's the giving in that happens when you just can't live the life everyone tells you you should anymore. Then it's the late nights in dark bars chosen for remote locations.
It's the end of a conversation that started, what, a month ago? A year ago? And it always went the same way:
Groom: "This can't be for real. There are expectations. I have to proceed as has been planned for me."
Dude: *Dissatisfied but still horny*
But this Dude ain't just dissatisfied no more.
