Also, Pat is trying to have sex with my shoulder.

As the sky begins drifting into navy blue from black, we have thirteen people still awake. We are the elite? Not just a little hard-core. There’s still dancing, and there’s many puddling people in shoals against Chris’ couches. I have so many incriminating pictures and I’m worried that there may actually be some of me. (or at least me on a table in a very short skirt, which for me is daring, as I don’t believe anyone took pictures when I was pinned against a wall wondering what to do when a boy gnaws on one’s neck. I decided the first step was obviously to put down the scone and after that.. not a clue. I think I need more practice.). I suppose a peruse of Flickr tomorrow will be illuminating for quite a few people. I’ve remained sober the entire time. I might be the only one. However, with dawn arriving, conversation’s spreading like flowers on a vine and most people have sobered up enough to carry intelligent dialogue without slurring.

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