There's a Party at Your House, part 4.

You can go to what remains of your kitchen and take double shots of whatever cheap alcohol remains. You can go upstairs where the music is quieter and join in a discussion about politics and philosophy, of which you are neither interested nor knowledgeable. You can drink a warm beer with vodka in it and play card games which seem to have no rules but where everyone ends up in their underwear or less.

You can stick your head inappropriately in the way of other people’s photographs until they take proper ones of you with your pose ready.

You can try and get a game of spin the bottle started because you haven’t pulled anyone for ages and you feel like you need to, because everyone is hot. Especially the crazy naked girls from the previous card game.

You can draw on people with a marker pen; moustaches, eyebrows, lions.

You can head downstairs to what was your living room and dance like you’re on speed, even though you’re not. You can wear someone else’s jester’s hat and wave your arms in the air too enthusiastically which hurts your elbows and wrists. Your joints go snap, crackle and pop.

You can have some girl from one of your classes come up to you and insult you. You’re not sure why. So you can go upstairs again, past the giant movie posters taken from the Odeon. A cardboard cut out of the Predator leers at you. It might just be you, but the mandibles are definitely twitching. The tape that fastens it to the wall can snap, and it falls on you, tete a tete. Your heart leaps as you fall to the ground, face first, palms flat on the carpet. Your breathing is shallow and quick and you can feel your pulse in your mouth. You think that you can taste blood in your mouth but it’s just the adrenaline.