The King and I


It was chilling to the bones. The coldness of the vast studio-turned-holding area where we viewed the procession of commoners on the large LCD. Commoners spoke in low voices, musing about everything from whose nobility would they see attending to why they cannot take keepsake or reminders of this fateful would-be encounter. After what seemed like hours, we eventually joined the procession.

Scenery changed from dreary dark to brilliant bright as we entered the chandeliered, wood-paneled lobby. Portraits and pictures of his lively, multitalented self were everywhere. All became a blur as we entered the theather aptly named after him.

Soft violin music filled my ears, coldness licked my bare arms incessantly, as my eyes nearly squinted as cameramen swooped over with their camera and built-in flash lights. I wished we had more privacy with royalty.

We approached the golden casket where he peacefully rested. I only noticed how pointed his nose are. I bit my lips, thanking him mentally for all the shows that eased our pain and elicited happiness. Then we have to give way to around 5,000 employees wishing to pay homage, too.

You see, I just met the King of Comedy.



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