I walk into the room only somewhat clothed: a torn shirt hanging off my left shoulder, shorts too short to really be called anything other than a second pair of underwear (in this case, they are technically my only pair of underwear.) The party has been going on for quite some time, and I fear that I might have missed the highlights of the night. Most of the participants of the orgy are still wrapped around each other in a massive pile of undulating flesh. They look worn, tired, like they’ve been at it too long.
Did the mascots already leave? It’s hard to tell–I haven’t seen any of them without their costumes before. My eyes scan the mass of bodies looking for signs, something that will guide me in the right direction. Maybe one of them has a tattoo resembling their alter ego.
I see nothing but stick and pokes of cigarettes, magic wand vibrators, and whales. At first it amuses me that nearly forty people all have the same tattoos, but then I wonder, did they give each other those tattoos? Most of them look like shit. Maybe it’s some strange initiation rite…
I check the address on my phone: it’s the right house. Strange. Maybe the mascots were here a different night…
Then a voice in my left ear, “This way.”
I turn, seeing nothing. Laughter peals down the hall leading away from the party.
I follow it.