They were all red heads mothers and daughters and sisters and they were partying all the time. They had a remarkable book of pictures of themselves at and having parties. The pictures were thin and flexible and black and white. Still you could always see that they were all red heads. There were always in the pictures cut glasses and bottles of whiskey or wine. All over the place there was alcohol on the tables or in their hands as they drank and drank through all the years all the time.
They were always in their own pictures in their own world drinking and drinking and smiling and smiling and never looking but so drunk, just very happy.
Wherever the men were in their world is unknown. There were no men in their world apparently.
He was of at least enough age to be allowed to look at their book of photographs of them having a party at one of their parities.
He wandered around with them for awhile not sure whom to be interested in and only ending up always talking to the wrong one.
It didn’t really matter because nothing was going to ever happen or really be done. They lived to party and partied to live and they were all red heads.