Wednesday, November 4, 2009

yet another dinner party

this evening: aristocracy filling the first floor like hair clogging the sewer.

running away. a bottle of Amarone in my hand. escaping reality.
entering our living room again eight hours later, coming home just in time for tea. I face the stiff party with blank eyes. too drunk to stand straight. my ysl dress ripped in awkward places.
I love you, father! I shout as mother drags me upstairs. We have to leave!

we have to get out of this mad house.