The night has lost any soul that it once had. No one in the crowd dances with any liveliness. Instead, they shuffle around, jockeying for a prime photo position where they rotate through poses until they catch the photographer's eye. Then, before drifting back to their shuffle buddies, they queue up to have some free booze poured down their throat. I knew these things were happening, but I didn't know it had gotten that bad. It makes me sad, less because of what's actually going on, and more because I miss dancing my ass off with my friends. I miss coming home exhausted and waking up sore because I left everything on the floor. Notwithstanding, I am glad I went for the sole reason that I now know firsthand I'm not missing a thing.
Rest in peace, Dead Hipster.
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