Reunion.

Two parties one after another—back to back. The same people. Nothing has changed and I don’t think it ever will. “Dude”, I say. “You think when we’re 40, we’ll still be doing these house parties?” He responds with a shrug. He knows that we’ll still be here and that it’s sad. We try to forget about it by getting drunk. We can worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. Right now we’re too busy laughing over teachers who we thought might be gay. That’s what’s most important.