Party To The Power Of Party
There’s a tune from your teens playing in one of the other rooms. You didn’t like the song back then, but now it has the benefit of absolute familiarity, and knowing that if you chose to you could go through the door and dance feels almost as good as dancing would.
But the conversation you’re having with a trainee tree surgeon from the next town over is too much fun to excuse yourself from. You’re talking about shared experiences of recently closed nightclubs, which is fine, but the truth is that every conversation you’ve had since you got here has been a delight, regardless of the subject.
Harris Pax is standing over there telling a story to a girl he just met about his friend Jonni, but you don’t know who any of those people are, so you don’t register them. There’s a girl in raggedy space clothes sitting on the breakfast bar in the kitchen, can’t be more than fifteen, staring in wonder at mini-chocolate bars in a bowl which have been put there ready for trick-or-treaters. She’s sneaking sips from a vodka bottle, making funny little whale noises to herself.
In a room off a room you can hear the sounds of a lot of people enthusiastically watching some classic movie, joining in at the cool bits. Somewhere there’s ambient music playing, and ambient smoky scents drifting down that particular corridor.
It’s the best party that ever was, and it’s all the best parties you’ve ever been to, or ever will go to. It’s all yesterday’s parties, and all the ones you’ll love tomorrow.
You can hear the chink of glasses as someone makes a toast to someone else, in a room full of people drinking the sort of drinks that you drink in the sort of glasses that you chink together. Near the front of the house, you can hear people loudly doing shots. You know because you heard about it from someone that there’s a dinner party somewhere close by, all the charming people sitting around a large table, being nice and sharing food.
And someone in the smoky room called out for pizza twenty minutes ago, so that’ll be here soon, or you’ll all eat pizza free.
It’s the sort of party that you only arrive too late to if you’re the sort of person who likes to arrive late. Where it’s always some time between getting going and winding down.
Off in your peripheral vision, there’s a warm room all lit in pink, where couples are hanging out, listening to soft music and chatting amiably. Someone brought little heart-shaped sweets along, and maybe they were spiked, because in there it always feels like a really good Valentine’s Day. A rumour goes, and you can kind of hear the evidence of it if you listen hard to the stairwell, that there’s a whole floor given over to people who want a party with more of a swing to it.
It’s party to the power of party to the power of party, and it never ends. You can get here from any number of places, but eventually you always have to leave.
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