Like every 80's themed party there will be alcohol whispering from each mouth. There will be dancing like there is no one else in the room. There will be jackets flying and breaking each flowered cup protecting the chandeler's lightbulbs. Sweat and a red dim light to fill the chaotic spaces will all be what is necessary for bobbing heads and swaying bodies.

After all the stumbling there will be a parade. A parade of drunk bodies, tripping into the local Village Inn. This is the place to be at three in the morning. This is your local disneyland at midnight. Every table wants to join the fifteen people dressed in bright red lipstick, striped shorts cut off at the upper thigh, and bright pink midrifts. Pictures will be taken and discarded when printed.

Secrets will enter the loud substance we call cluttered conversation. These secrets will turn heads and teach the young what life can really be like.

After the food is brought and consumed; the men and women done with wiping their chins after a session with the toilet; it is assumed that everyone will go home. Checks are payed, and the parade dissipates.

It is now the moment when all are in bed snoring, and one person stares at herself in the mirror. All she knows is she was not to live now, but in the 80s.

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