Not a Wedding Guest

Lost an old motorcycle in a muddy river. Caught a ride with J on his Harley into town. Joked that I was a nerd who last rode a bicycle. We went to a large home, I was courteous but still unwelcome. Next door was a building that seemed like a cross between a bank and a church; from its lawn to past the curb, a wedding celebration was being prepared. Folding tables and chairs were everywhere. The bride resembled a young Sophia Loren, but taller, fuller and perhaps not as smart. The next day I went to Newark and outside a pizzeria ended up regaling the hard-luckies about my time as an electrician apprentice with considerable hyperbole. “Hottest summer on record, pulling wires through walls, shit falling all over me.” I was asked for sage advice by people with no connections who wanted to break into the skilled trades. I remembered what my father said about working for his disappearing brother-in-law: “How long can you sit on your ass without a chair?” It was all I could think of even if it didn't fit.