It was a new day. Tomorrow would be an important day in his life. The writer knew a thing, actually an important thing:
Everything has an end.
At this time tomorrow the writer probably would change… or maybe he just would be drunk, walking around his own life without hope or agenda.
He would want to be alone. Anybody in that party would be interesting for the writer. Everybody was different. He just wait his moment. His party. Maybe in a couple of years.
His time will come, but won´t tomorrow.
theaccompaniedsolitary 