Holed up in a hotel room (Zombie Apocalypse style, not Romantic Criminal Comedy style) with Oprah, watching TV. There is footage on the news of someone’s wedding; someone we know. Something comes on and she starts yelling across the room at Siri, telling it to remind her to have that person get married all over again because she wanted to officiate the ceremony. Her voice gets higher and more shrill with each word.
I hear a crash outside, a screeching of brakes.
I head down the stairs into my and out the front door. A giant, chrome-plated SUV with the nose of a Lincoln Navigator is idling by the curb. Inside are a bunch of people I know from work. They’re all dressed up, and it looks like they’re headed for a wedding. I turn around to see someone (K.B.) clipping flowers from our front garden. What are you doing? I ask. She replies with some rambling explanation about how the last wedding they all went to, the ceremony ran long and the flowers that they brought to give to the bride all dried out. So they decided to swing by my place to pick up some fresher ones this time. She skips off into the SUV, which immediately peels wheels out of the neighborhood.
I jog down the street after them, fist raised, shouting curses and assertions of genuine anger after them.