Matrimony Mixed With

The museum was a tall old building, white limestone, carved pillars, and archways that were clear excuses for stonecarvers to exorcise their frustrated whimsy. Large yellow banners draped across the inside of the too-clean windows, reading International Spy Museum in big red block letters. There was a restaurant next door. Its windows were even longer and shinier, and the furnishings I could see through the glass said the food would be cool on the plate, dull on the tongue, and hard on the pocket. I went up the steps and paused for a moment. It occurred to me that I didn’t know if a man needed to knock on the door of a public building after hours if he was showing up for his own wedding.