It is Alton and Tynisha’s wedding day and they did it up some kind of proper. I mean the ballroom is lined in glass crystals and fancy ass flower arrangements. Wait staff is balancing trays on their shoulders as they serve drinks and refill glasses. Damn! I recalled him saying Tynisha’s reality show network was footing the bill, but I still cringe at the potential setback of all the glamour. There are cameras every damn where. I have to do something I’ve found difficult to do all day; smile. It is difficult for me to do something I’m often paid to do when modeling is a part of my endorsement agreement. What I’m struggling with is how can such a great occasion bring so much fucking gloom to my disposition. “Excuse me. Excuse me,” I hear from the speakers around the room. I turn from the bar to find Tynisha framed beautifully in laced in her reception gown next to Alton’s tiny ass. Short and all, my man looks good in his tan tuxedo and brown dress shoes.
