Half and Half

You keep me up.

(I went to two parties)

It amazes me that you can be as polarized as you are.
Two sides of the story: One anti-climactic, overtly pompous room, where the smell of rank sweat and half smoked cheap cigars fill the smuggy air; another, lackadasial, hipped out, danced out, past-tipsy, like an addictively redundant laughable catch phrase, where everyone seems to know your name past the second red cup.

I attended both. One had the usual friendly's, and a hand-picked bunch of attractive features, although the couchs were occupied with those who already knew each other enough to lay shoulder to shoulder. The other was a hodge-podge of late night crashers, with the thirst for a keg and the disappointment of warm beer; a pespirating lake of strangers who connected themselves with the red cup in their hand. At least they had comfy couches. But the music sucked-- kissed the ground of your high school bathroom floor kind of sucked.

A dichotomous night, a dichotomous brain, this pair of dichotomous eyelids.

Just this dichotomous feeling.