Michael LaBonte lifted his three year old son, Clyde, and placed him on his shoulders so he could see over the heads of the first two rows of people lining the parade route. Sophia was crying, “I wanna see!”
“You’re too big to be on my shoulders now,” LaBonte said.
Tammy, his wife, touched his arm. “I’ll take them up front,” meaning both of the other children. Tammy gave Sophia and Junior a shove, pushing them through a tiny hole between two people and disappearing into the crowd.
“Look, there’s Mother Tilman!” LaBonte called, pointing Clyde northward down the street. “Mother loves us all.”
Tilman was a tall, dark-skinned woman with black hair and purple hi-lights. LaBonte tried to not think of how her corset was tight, but as he tried not think of it, he thought of it. Men probably were thinking the same thing. Tilman smiled at all of them, most likely fully aware that the corset barely covered her.
The parade was a celebration of the holiday of Emperor Cole’s birthday, where all the Praetors would march down the street and present themselves to Cole at his balcony in Nova Praetoria.
LaBonte’s family had taken the free shuttle from Neutropolis to Nova Praetoria, and staked out his spot in the front – except people kept coming, going in front of him. He said nothing as people stepped in front of him, even while Tammy looked at him, expecting him to say something.
He never did. LaBonte never caused problems. In his normal job as being a simple web developer for Puffin, the open-source program that some small buisinesses preferred to use other than Layer, he didn’t usually make arguments with clients. A client wanted a web page to dance? He’d do it – or die trying.
Many Praetors passed by, and he was part of the happy throng. So many people, and he was a part of their celebration. Maybe he would pass by the balcony and see the Emperor in his glory, the man who stopped Hamidon.
He ignored the pain in his shoulders, keeping his smile plastered on, while Clyde bounced painfully on him,
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