In a Room with a Half Open Door. There is a Party Going On in the House.
So loud, even from here. The music is just noise. At least it drowns out the sexual moans droning on from the other rooms. Now I know why parties are a popular destination for sex. They're still loud. Still excessively obnoxious.
It only serves to further rub in my face how alone I am here. You can be increasingly, terribly lonely in a house full of people, who you barely know, all putting on a show of fake fun, of drinking and getting high. Add in the blaring, deafening music in a dark, sweaty, beer-filled, claustrophobic environment, it's like the next best thing to hell.
Shows how fun these parties actually are: you have to alter yourself drastically in order to "enjoy" them.
I don't belong here. I was practically smuggled in by a pity friend. In any case, part of me wanted to see, and hear, and smell, what the fuss is about.
I have to say, I'm not impressed.
So many regretful life decisions waiting to happen.
No one had noticed me. No one ever does.
I'm not like these wastes of energy and social baggages, and I never will be.
After the last guy vomits in the sink next to where I am now, outside the back door of the kitchen, I close it. Failure to launch. Signal to abort mission. Depart all and deliver none.
What a disgusting disuse of time.
There're no beer bottles littered on my path back home.
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