party night.

A Story by alan khan

poking fun.

i'm young. I watch MTV. i txt at all hours of the day. I wear scarves when it's warm. I like to laugh, i like to f**k, and i like to get drunk, only to wake the next day to do it all over again. I don't do anything with my life. I flat iron my hair and i'm a boy. I;m thin and white and i tilt my head to the side. I wear skinny jeans with flamboyent nike dunks. I wear really large sunglasses, you know, the s***s kanye normally rocks. vodka. I have tattoos of meaningless egyptian symbols on my wrists. I shave my chest. My balls too. I clip my armpit hairs. I dont kno who the f**k charles bronson is, but i do know who the tron guy is.

Tonight is an epic party. Party of the decade. best party ever. its 2010.

Patron in my cup and i;m already schwasted. Theres a girl over in the corner. Her messy bleach blonde hair and ultra tweezed brunette eyebrows let me know shes the girl for me. I ask around and find out shes a musician. How amazing, i play bass is my band. The band that always rehearses, and never plays shows. I'll go over now.

Ten mintues after we begin talking, shes leading me with her free hand, her other hand occupied by the cigarette, to a room upstairs. Theres a bed, and some other s**t like paintings on teh wall but whatever.

We f**k. Penis in vagina. Than we're through. She dreses, being careful to not mess up the orchestrated mess of her torn apart sweat shirt, that says lets hug it out written on the front.

I go downstairs and theres this new guy here. He doesnt look like anyone i;ve seen before.

He has on black work boots, black jeans, black t shirt and has black and milds (cigar) between his teeth. His stubble is just that, stubble. it doest look like its been touched by a razor at all...His tattoo of the word mom thorned into a heart is on his left bicep. which is large but hasnt been worked on in a gym. He smiles to everyone and shakes hands. He doesnt talk to any men, which he refers to as boys. He talks to teh women i dont like. They're wearing jackets and t shirts and jeans. With boots. They're hair is neat and they're talking about...god knows what. He gets numbers though. He takes whiskey.

He breezes past me without paying me any mind.

When i begin yelling at an ex girlfriend, calling her a f*****g s**t, he steps in. Whats he doing anyway. i never want to fight. i just yell a lot.

I tell him to move. He wont though, what the f**k.

He punches me out and gets my ex a drink. I lay bloody with a broken nose, my green scarf steined red. flipping my hair to the side so blood doesnt get on it. He looks down at me shaking his head and says, "Kids."