Smoothing his coat, he strode into the concert hall, exuding elegance and poise. To the public eye, he appeared well-mannered and full of grace. Those in his inner circle, only on condition of anonymity, speak of his haughtiness and narcissistic pride.
With a swift nod to the usher, he made his way to his seat, sat down and observed those seated near him. While he appeared calm and composed, his mind reeled at the total lack of adhering to dress codes for art performances.
"These young kids in their shirts and berms and flip-flops! Do they think they're going to the beach?", he scorned inwardly. "And that male in his early twenties seated in the corner! Surely it doesn't take a lot of effort to style his hair or at the very least comb it to a certain degree. And that girl seated three seats on the left! That plunging neckline coupled with that skirt way above the knee. Was that what she wore a couple of years back, or perhaps a hand-me-down!", he muttered to himself.
"Such a disgrace to society and utterly disrespectful to the artistes. Don't they know how to dress better? Perhaps the arts management should educate the youths on the social etiquette. After all," he thought to himself, "it was only through his donation of a million dollars that this concert hall still remained standing!"
The bell chimed thrice, the lights dimmed, and the audience quickly settled down; loud chatter dwindling to hushed whispers and then to pure blissful silence save for the occasional stifled cough or clearing of the throat.
