People Are Strange*

[Solitair†]

A white limousine cruised down the streets of Kensington Heights, snaking its way to one of the more opulent mansions. The vehicle's large size betrayed its emptiness, having only two people currently occupying the space.

The first occupant was the chauffer, a sturdily-built man in his 40's with salt and pepper hair. A thick mustache rested above his thin lips, and his face was beginning to wrinkle, especially around his eyes. He wore a pristine white uniform that looked moderately expensive, but nothing that could bankrupt a middle-class man.

In the very back row sat a young man wearing a formal suit, a fine leather backpack lying next to him. He kept his features well groomed because that's what people expected of the rich. He pasted the most natural-looking smile he could muster on his face because going through school was easier if he appeared to keep a positive attitude. And he lied about his feelings because no one would let him run free if he didn't.

"Sergei," he asked the chauffeur. "How are my parents doing?"

Sergei replied without turning his head, keeping his eyes on the road like he was paid to do. "They have much work to do, Young Master. It will be long time before they return here."

Dalton sighed, looking quite disappointed. He wasn't surprised, really. He had seen so little of his parents that he had almost forgotten what they looked like.

"I am sorry I cannot be of more assistance, Young Master."

Dalton shrugged. "Don't worry about it." You can't help how flaky my parents are. Try to worry about not being such a kiss-ass.