The beginning of a short story about the awkwardness in most of us.
"Samuel tripped into the lunchtime insanity. In his usual way, other peoples feet, shopping bags and alarmingly cute kids with killer eyes insinuated themselves into his path. Grace was Monacon royalty (or was she, trivia was not his strong point) and had nothing to do with his social dispositions.
Why did Armand always force him into these socially awkward situations? He hated meeting new people especially the arty-farty, social elites Armand insisted on making acquaintances with. Its networking dahling, Armand would spout in his affected enunciation, misleading his listeners into believing he was thoroughbred northern-suburb and had not so much as breathed in the direction of the free state farm he was born on. His name wasn’t even Armand and if his poor arthritic mother knew that her Werner had so callously tossed aside his birth name she’d stop sending him her cinnamon and molasses rusks."
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