sign on the door i

The sign on the door says “welcome to the future”.

Approach with caution. Momentum moves me through motions. My thoughts are redundant.

Now.

Off-campus party. Here, for a reason.

I tell myself not to fear what's on the other side.  The unknown.  The change.  The chance.

Don’t care what waits behind the door. It cannot be worse than what’s going on out here. A hedonistic sea of hormones. I label and dismiss it all.

The living room is packed with bodies that dance, twist, writhe.

The party, in the kitchen and living room of this off-campus, two-bedroom townhouse, continues in full swing. 

Drinking. Smoking.  A lot of pre-fucking. 

People bent over white lines of coke on a glass coffee table.  I listen to the shallow conversations. 

Economic theory: “The dollar is approaching the theoretical limits of its value. What happens next is anyone’s guess.”

I change channels.

Another one: “The media is all agenda. People own truth.”

“Lies.  Sheep.  Brainwashed flock. What has happened to you?”

Music from the speakers in the living room plays at high volume. People yell over the music in conversation. 

“I mean, most of the cafeteria workers are ex-cons, can we trust them with our food?”

“Milton got raided, earlier tonight.  They scooped up a bunch of students. Huge bust.”

“Building Seven. Explain that one. I dare you.”

The playlist is eclectic.  Rap becomes rock becomes trance becomes dubstep becomes house becomes rock becomes blues becomes metal becomes punk becomes rnb becomes country.  At least three people groan at the latest acoustic guitar.

Someone taps my shoulder and tells me to grab a cup from the kitchen. I turn to see who it is, but they are already gone.