It was a party last night...
A writhing, sweating party...
God, I hate them. I swear I do...but I can't stop myself from turning up. Even though I know it will turn out like every other one...
The awkward greetings with the friends of friends...
Then the calming of nerves....
a few coke-and-whatever-else-she-put-in-it's....
A bit of dancing....the making out with over horny, half pissed lad...
the bit where new found horny make-out partener dissappears and you feel strangley betrayed even though you barely know them...
So you sit on a mattress next to the other rejected stoners and listen to some music, and you feel like crying....then people start to leave, you swap numbers with over horny make-out partener, yet both of you know that you will text maybe a week and that's it...then you doss.
Don't go to bed...just sit in a cold room listening to Pink Floyd, while some random bearded fellow plays an acoustic guitar and sings badly...
we don't laugh at him. We are too "hippy" and music is too "far out duuude" for us to take ourselves with a bit of fun. No, we silently cringe at the awful singing, from a probably respected member of the stoner tribe (remember these aren't your friends) and nod in time with him and talk, amidst a thick haze of smoke and flickering candlelight, about what a work of art 'Dark side of the moon' is and how Bob Dylan is a genious.
And you nod and grunt in all the right places...half heartedly pretending to give a shit and pretending to know fuck all about Dylan...The whole thing is reeking of artificiality.
For the people who pride themselves beyond all measure as being INDIVIDUAL. REAL. and ECCENTRIC....
It's personally the most plastic load of bollocks I've ever had the displeasure of witnessing and being part of.

Parties...I guess the worst part is the comedown bit at 6 in the morning....You feel like shit. And look it too. And you quietly leave your wasted associates on the dirty floor and trek it home looking like a raped hobo.