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To the Twin
Scott was perpetually bored. It was 1965 and the world was changing, but his family was staying staunchly the same. A month after Black Tuesday in November, Scott found himself wishing something else mildly exciting would happen to them. During the blackout, they'd been driven past some looting on their way home that day and Scott had pressed himself to the window of the car, wishing for just a moment that the panicked crowds would rush the car and pack him and his brother away to God knew what horrible but exciting fate. Staring into the mirror, half-assedly adjusting his bow tie, he looked past his own reflection and caught sight of his brother who, at first glance, could have been a carbon copy in his own tuxedo. Upon further investigation, it was clear that his brother was lighter haired than he was, eyes brighter, wider as well.

"If I have to sit through another one of Father's dinners out on the town I'm going to vomit. Let's pretend that we're sick, or something. God, anything but Mrs. Lindley's pimply daughter hitting on me." They always ate at the finest restaurants with the worst company. But that's what you got when you were considered one of New York's foremost families. All of the other socialites led lives just as cushy, just as fucking boring, but all of them seemed suited to it. Scott had never liked the social responsibilities that had come with his money, though he had never turned down the fine things he possessed because of his father's financial security.