The party

Twenty minutes into bouncing on the cramped, strobe-lit dance floor, Chris stopped dead in his tracks. Around him, intoxicated teenagers continued to grind against each other, tutting and cooking to every drop of the bassline. No girls had come up to him, and all the candidates he'd considered dancing with were clustered in a tight-knit group. A few meters to his left, one particularly energetic couple thrusted against each other furiously - the man carrying the woman in his arms as she pulsated against him like an equalizer.

Chris slipped into that all-too-familiar state of existence where everyone around him froze. They were still in motion, yes, but their humanity just disappeared. In its place was a set of mindless, rhythm-savvy, robots.   Enough was enough. No girls to be found here, at least none that would dance with HIM, and he was feeling the compounding effects of five different substances in his bloodstream. He continued bobbing his head slightly, raising his arms in the air for an occasional fist-pump, but he could tell that either these were actors or people just TOO focused on destroying their intellects.

He glanced behind him. A hobo with two cans of beer was trying to fondle a girl sitting next to him, but she easily avoided his advances. He looked to the DJ, who was rapping along to the DnB mix; a trio of girls behind him justified it by shaking their rears. Near the turntables, a nerd wearing plaid was trying to start a fistpump circle, but of course, no one joined in. Similar endeavors were going on in the far corners of the dance floor - by young men equally without social presence.

"So this is a Brooklyn party." Chris muttered. "Quaint." He had enjoyed every other party he'd ever attended - an admittedly small number - but this was unlike any of those experiences. The celebrants were college age or older, VERY aggressive (multiple fistfights had broken out), and centered on their own satisfaction. Even the organizers had been hostile.

On the way home, one word kept looping through our subject's mind; "profundity." That's what he was supposed to be doing. That was his destiny - not this. And because he kept subjecting himself to these freak shows, he knew that he was betraying his destiny. He surmised that he would attend more parties like these, and he was fine with that. He knew that little of it mattered anyway. Until he was told to follow the white rabbit, he would never be able to distinguish the reality from the dream.