Ten!

The Dutch come today while there are two parties to attend at night. Kevin is late for the Sheffield reception at Shangri-La but neither of us really care, so we stroll in, underdressed, at stuff our faces. It is certain, I do not wish to go there. The Sunday Fool's party is later at night too, since Mr. B is going away. As the guests go home, we all come out to play. There's too much food, alcohol in abundance, bad music, one bicycle and no rules. So we're all kinda pissed off our tits, even if only for the fact that there're absolutely no guests to pander too. As people start to pass out (from tiredness or drink), vomit or run away, I make my way out at four in the morning. Mot is there, and with my face on his soft neck as we hug, maybe I didnt want to leave. Maybe I was smashed.