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I liked talking to Greg because he always kept it real, always talked about how much he hated doing coke, and because he always had coke. He played the guitar and I mashed some drums despite my broken finger, trying to stay in rhythm as he compensated for my lack of talent. Then he put the instrument down, gave his hat to some blonde girl who was practically sucking his dick already, then turned to me.

"Last time I did it was like being drunk but drunk on 4loco." He lit a cigarette.

I didn't know we could smoke in his apartment, so I lit one too. The blonde girl was trying to talk to me about some stupid bracelet she was wearing. She wanted to trade me one of mine. I pulled off a handful and threw them to the ground, turning back to Greg. I wanted him to give me a quick snooter just to deal with this birthday party.

"Man, I could climb walls. No problem." He pulled out a small jar. Inside was a baggy filled with powder.

"Only thing is, I just wanted to crawl into a hole. I was at some shitty DJ party, the DJ was a total fucking bummer. I hate how anyone thinks they can be a DJ."

He looked around, then cracked open the bag. Powder spill onto his fingers and he immediately licked them.

"Want some Molly?" He asked, spilling the powder onto a napkin.

"Doesn't matter." I inhaled my cigarette, watching the blonde girl sorting through the jewelry on the floor. Her thong wasn't sticking out, so she wasn't wearing any underwear. Her ass was a little fat.

Greg poured some powder into a beer. He snorted the rest off the napkin, then handed me the beer. "To life, love, and laughter." I nodded and pounded the beer. Someone was lighting firecrackers off on the patio.

The door barged open and as Creedence Clear Water revival started to play, a bunch of weird Asians walk in. I was sitting near the door so they all introduced themselves to me. I only remember this short one named Dwayne--he had long black hair streaked with lime green. He claimed it was his birthday too. I wonder if he could climb walls.

"25 down, 25 left to go." I told Dwayne, not shaking his hand. I inhaled my cigarette then tried the beer again. I wanted every last drop of relevance.

Greg clammed up and stopped talking. Watching the crowd of people schmooze in corners and near windows, he slowly sipped his whiskey and averted his eyes. I stood to get another beer. Life, love, and laughter.

I walked through the crowd, people trying to dance and give me shots of whiskey. I handed the remainder of my cigarette to Kevin, a tall guy with a bandanna around his head. He didn't drink, but instead brought all the blondes and some comics for me to read. We talked about firecrackers and stink bombs until Joan Jett became too loud from the speakers. I walked into the kitchen and past someone asking me how my new apartment was. I made up some nonsense, realized I had to pay some billls, then crack a Keystone. In that order.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. Camille was crying about something, motioning to the living room. It wasn't clear if she was serious, or if she was just a a side effect. Tossing my cigarette into the sink, I turned to the window. People were gathered around and yelling at the rain.

I took a glance and saw some people naked running throw a stream of water. It wasn't actually raining; the naked drunks had just punctured a pipe form the sprinkler system and were going for a dip.

I got closer and one of the blondes bent over in front of me. I stepped into her, and we began to dry hump. I was wondering who else Greg had been giving Molly to. Creedence Clearwater Revival came back on for some reason, and I continued to thrust into her.

The blonde turned around and said, "I can feel you."

It may have been a side effect.

We continued to dry hump and look at the window, even after the wet kids came inside and tried to go warm. The water pipe was still bursting everywhere, turning the grass into mud. "Doesn't matter." I thought.

Greg seemed angry so I went to go talk to him. He was incoherent and yelling, so I danced to a few songs I knew. Camille finally stopped crying and brightened up. Before long she had opened and poured a bottle of expensive champagne.

"Who's birthday is it, again?" Either Camille or I asked this. I remember whoever answered simply said, "Doesn't matter."