Picture Perfect
The bride wore a veil and white trainers. The groom wore a slim suit and patient smile. They stood at the edge of Glenorchy’s wharf and looked at each other, looked at the camera, looked out over plate-glass Lake Wakatipu.
There were makeup touch-ups, contrived poses, and innumerable lenses and angles. The couple had flown from China, from near Shanghai, to have wedding photos taken in one glorious location after another around New Zealand. So here they were, at the end of the wharf, at the end of the road, at the end of the world.
A woman fishing nearby wore a beanie, thermals and warm boots. She cast deep into the lake, then sat on the wharf’s edge to roll a cigarette. She’d worked the early shift at a cafe and figured she’d use the last of the daylight to catch a trout.
She used to work in Wellington, on The Terrace, in the corporate world, but one day packed it in and packed up her house. Bought a campervan and headed south. So here she was, at the top of the lake, at the end of the day.
The wedding couple smiled on command, and looked blissfully at each other when directed. The fisherwoman looked across the lake and beyond to the mountains, snow halfway down them, and smiled to
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