Gerald shifted on his wooden chair. His back tight, his neck stiff. This wasn’t how his golden years were supposed to go. But bad investments and bad luck left him alone and penniless.
He looked up from his circular enclosure as visitors buzzed about. A homogenous crowd of the young and genetically blessed.
They looked down seeing him as he was: an elderly man from a lost generation. A throwback to a time when genetic imperfections still existed.
Gerald removed his toupee as the assembled crowd shrieked in delight.
A freak in a traveling side show. That’s all he was.
The Weekday One Hundred 