Round and round and round and round and round we go

Strange groups huddle up in corners and hallways and the middle of the floor with a single girl as the nucleus of the amoeba. The only guys who have groups surrounding them are loners in awkward situations or those holding coke or aderall or xanax or uppers of any other variety. Some awkwardly dance and some awkwardly avoid doing so. The pretty girls stand around and soak in the attention while the shy guys sit around and ogle the pretty girls wishing with their whole hearts that the pretty girls would pay the slightest bit of attention to them. There is inevitable nakedness and inevitable drunkenness and inevitable delusions of grandeur about finding one's one true love or at least a love for the night. Hugs and handshakes and cheek kisses and pats on the back accompany the loneliness found in most everyone's eyes. Drinks are poured when no more drinks are needed. Pills are popped, bodies are stared down, hopes are raised, dreamed are dashed, and people are watched.

What would have happened if everyone had stayed at home? Nothing different.