by Joseph Grant
When they first met, he was a watered down version of someone else's genius. She was a beautiful dreamer, left alone on the dance floor of life until he introduced himself for a lead. He thought her dress was beautiful but would look better upon his bedroom floor. He was a pale, dipsomaniac writer who liked to soak his paper in white wine and write upon their drying, for in that way, his words could be saturated in the golden speech of the gods. Under the bright summer sun of innocence, he learned that she married well but divorced even better and when they wed, she held true to her course until the bitterest of ends. Later on, he would write of her, using her and her friends as sunburned inspiration for his salty novels, and they would pepper their conversations with each other's names, but never again would they attend the same social; such was summer in Newport Beach.
Joseph Grant is considered 6S Royalty. Find him on Facebook.