George Romero

I took a sip of my glass of wine as I admired the modern architecture of the Kensington house. Nobody could deny the outstanding, spacious features that left most attending in awe. I say most because some of the billionaires attending look down upon a house like this - they’d rather opt for a mansion and outdoor pool. I put my glass down, and looked around me. So many faces I recognised from the media, interviews and Wikipedia. Who knew I’d end up among this crowd. That said, most millionaires are obese men who feel demanding is better than hard work. I’ve had a few of those clients before. They often ejaculate within seconds, and are left panting for air even minutes after. I of course played along, but I was yet to find a client I truly was passionate with.

I continued with my walk of admiration around the house party, stopping at certain groups and moving on from others. A particular group caught my eye, I instantly recognised Mr Kururugi and from a distance, admired his body which looked incredibly defined through the suit he was wearing. The crowd he was with I did not particularly recognise but that was okay - most appeared to be female. My focus was fixated on the billionaire who I had come to admire. His body, success, fame, sexuality, personality were all both rumours and facts I had heard. It was exciting to picture him in my head whilst I looked from a distance. I adjusted my pink bowtie- George’s signature mark- as I continued to glance.

I took another sip of my wine, entirely clueless to the fact I’d been spotted. In doing so, my Apple Watch could be seen as I lifted my arm for the drink. I checked the time, it read 6.27pm. The night was still young. I looked over again, after putting my drink down and decided I’d play the long game this time before taking a seat a couple of rows away from Mr Kururugi yet still within a very visible distance.