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My second project
The fat man had his arm around Adejo's uncle's neck like they were old friends, every now and then pulling him closer when there was some particular part of the song he felt he needed to share more intimately, singing into his uncle's ear and making him smile in a way that looked painful.
Whoever the fat man was – and Adejo couldn't imagine his uncle ever being friends with a white person – he seemed to be the only one who knew the words of the song (that Adejo thought might be Irish, but then he hadn't heard Irish before, at least he didn't think so), blasting out the lyrics with a viciousness that made him look like he wished he had something to kick while he was singing.
Adejo still wasn't quite sure how his uncle had got caught up with the two wedding guests in the first place. He had never been to a wedding before and had been excited until his uncle made it clear that they weren't really going to the wedding. 'We're just going to the kitchen, to pick up the bags. We won't even see the wedding. I'm sorry Adejo. You'll hear it though. I can promise you that.' For a while it seemed that they wouldn't even hear the wedding, let alone see it, because when his uncle parked the van and went to the steel door that led to the kitchen it wouldn't open, no matter how many times his uncle tried pressing different numbers into the pad on the wall.
In the end they had to go through the front doors of the hotel (clearly an option of last resort evidenced by his uncle's mutterings beneath his breath), although Adejo felt as if he was entering a palace. The floor was tiled with shiny stone, with four pillars (pillars, inside!) that stretched up before disappearing into a high ceiling.
'Come on Adejo, keep up! And please don't touch anything.'
