Dorian On the Upper Deck

He sat on the upper deck of the double-decker
tour bus. The wind blew and he removed his
designer ball cap revealing the few remaining
hairs blowing in the wind. He wore a matching
Ralph Lauren tennis shirt and shorts as his crepe
paper-thin skin hung from his arms, starting to
crawl over his Rolex watch. A Louis Vuitton sweat
shirt hung from his drooping shoulders. The scaly
skin on his legs folded over the top of his John-
ston Murphy leather soled, five-layer heeled loafers.
When the bus finished its rounds, the man’s wife
scooped up the things to which he belonged, shuffled
through his ashes, exited the bus, tossed the belong-
ings in a waste receptacle, twirled the key chain she
had pulled from her husband’s shorts and headed
for the Beemer as her “crepey” skin blew in the

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