The Afterparty

I found myself walking along a nearly empty avenue, given that the cars were only coming and going by at some rate of 1 car for every 5 minutes. There wasn't much people by the road at 7 in the morning of a Sunday, compared to those of the weekdays - and it was a good thing, given my condition.

It was the afterparty. No, not the afterparty party. It's what happens next to the main event and no one moves to another location to prolong the boozefest. I was the scene of a 'mess', and I could't put 'Hot' in front of the word. It was the aftermath of a party, now described more aptly.

I have finally theorized that "The aftermath of a party is the antithesis of it's glamour." And even I couldn't escape it. I was finally at at point where I leave someone else's condo (where I just slept over, not humped over) with a very desperate attempt of making a new look out of last night's formalwear to trick the guards I lived there without them questioning if I stole or killed anything, or anybody - which I'd stress out did not. And I tell you, going out with what you wore the evening before was like any late fashion get up, so last night/season/year.

But then again, the ugliest part was not getting out - it was walking back to your place that made me look and feel like a total mess, even when i only drank a glass of blue liquor. A failed hand-combed beadhair and an untucked shirt with unbuckled shoes carrying nothing but pastel colored loot boxes and a memorabilia photo. And the sad part is: I was, while looking like a sad excuse for a partygoer, singing in the light wind to Adele.

Which made me realize: Why does life suck when I have done nothing wrong?

Or maybe it was my heart last night seeing people - yes, plural - I really like but couldn't tell what I was feeling. Or the feeling of losing a pen and a necktie. Or the feeling of getting a hug that would just release hormones all around the room. Or maybe it was me, walking alone along the street to my place feeling like punching Adele in the face for the song-inflicted heartache.

One more block to go before I get to my bed, I'd really like to sleep this one out. Maybe my heart is like my stomach, who forgets being hungry every time I wake up.