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After Parties
We skipped a party that was down the street to get filthy drunk, but I found myself bored as hell at 3 am when my roomates were passing out. I told my bud that I was going to sneak into the rave as he was heading downstairs. I got there, and they were shepparding everyone to the back entrance, so I just walked up to the bouncer and showed him my hand (which had no stamp on it) and he nodded and opened the door for me and I walked inside. Sucker. The party was lame (from my aspect), but there were a bunch of oldskoolers around and everyone was messed up in general, so the vibe was just fine. I ran into my on-off-on-off girlfriend (we were off at the time) and I told her that I was going to have an afterparty, but it was shush-shush. Of course it wasn't. I had handed out a few addresses, and in ten minutes I heard random people talked about '377 Maitland'. Oh, shit. These people better not beat me home..
The first guy that walks in is like, "Dude thanks for letting me party at your house." Sure, why not? I said, and he hands me a vial chalked with ketamine. *drool* Now, K and I are trouble because I don't know when to stop; I'll K hole just for fun.
-At this point I have one roomate sleeping downstairs, and two sleeping upstairs.-
A large group of kids I didn't know were coming in, so I stopped em and said it was two dollars each, just because I was drunk and can be a prick sometimes. They paid for my smokes and some weed.  I gave up on the door when a guest suggested we mix some K with some C upstairs. I kinda lost an hour or two after that. Maybe three. I remember trying to set up my mixer and had no clue which cord was which, so I had to get this candy kid to help me out, "Can you be my eyes, man?"
I was in the kitchen downstairs when my roomate walked in, a little bewildered. "Who are all these people?" I explained the story and offered him some K. Apparently he wasn't in the mood at 5:30 in the morning. 
In the end, it was just me and this huuuge dude that were left in my living room. He kept on asking to use the phone and speaking all codishly, looking for parties (it's 9:30 in the morning at this point) and I thought he was casing the joint. So I excuse myself and take a job upstairs and tell my roomate, who keeps a Louisville Slugger named Charise under his bed. He thinks I'm crazy, and doesn't really take me seriously when I say there's a huge dude downstairs that won't leave, so strolls down with me to take a gander. Ha. The guy is fucking huge. I tell him again that he should get going, cause I want to sleep. Turns out the guy is just fucked out his gourd on Coke and E and GHB  and starts telling us about his job as a Culligan water salesman, like we were in the neighbourhood to buy a fuckin' water filter.
All in all, I lost Metal Gear Solid for the Ps2, all of my cologne, but that's it. Eh, I say. Whoever stole the cologne forgot to put the caps on two of em, so that's good enough for me.
My other roomate woke up in the morning, completely oblivious to the fact that there had been 200 people in our house only a few hours earlier.
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Wave is to particle as zero is to one as bagpipes are to modem noises. 
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it might be dangerous, sure. I've seen the human body take a lot of punishment.
