A party. One I didn’t want to go to at all. As I stood in the narrow doorway into the kitchen area I questioned everything about the night. “Am I too easily talked into things?” I thought in my head staring down into a solo cup full of Busch. Kyle brought me here. He embodied this party as much as I did not. 6’1, washed up high school track star who’s main personality traits were his new mustang and the fact that his dad played polo once with some Arabian prince. He represented everything I hated about the world, like a perfect embodiment of privilege. After a long conversation and a lot of convincing (or at least I thought it was a lot, I guess he did win me over pretty fast) at my apartment, I was in an Uber to some unspecified party house. Within 30 seconds of arrival Kyle had disappeared and now I’m standing in a kitchen alone staring down at a flat beer. Parties were never my thing but this was truly miserable. I wandered around the party feeling the vibration of the bass beneath my feet as the music blasted.