(no subject)
Riley can't remember what this museum is. They all kind of blur together after a while. There's old stuff. It's in display cases and hanging on the wall. Blah blah blah.
There are old people, too. A lot of them. So many tuxedos, gray beards, and long-sleeved glittery gowns that look like they belong on Barbara Bush circa 1988, so little time.
(To be fair, there are plenty of non blue-haired museum patrons in attendance, too. There aren't so many who are in their twenties, though.)
Ben and Abigail are in here somewhere. Supposedly. Riley hasn't seen them in a while. They're in their element, wherever they are. Riley, meanwhile, is staring up at a huge carved stone wall that was taken from some temple somewhere. He squints at it over his ridiculously tiny glass of champagne. "Is that supposed to be a kid or a dog?" he asks doubtfully.
There are old people, too. A lot of them. So many tuxedos, gray beards, and long-sleeved glittery gowns that look like they belong on Barbara Bush circa 1988, so little time.
(To be fair, there are plenty of non blue-haired museum patrons in attendance, too. There aren't so many who are in their twenties, though.)
Ben and Abigail are in here somewhere. Supposedly. Riley hasn't seen them in a while. They're in their element, wherever they are. Riley, meanwhile, is staring up at a huge carved stone wall that was taken from some temple somewhere. He squints at it over his ridiculously tiny glass of champagne. "Is that supposed to be a kid or a dog?" he asks doubtfully.