A Dinner Party Full of Writers

last night i went to a dinner party full of writers. at the table sat a photographer named S.E.X.Y, an ivy league PhD, an Irishman, an indie folk singer, an old drinking buddy, my nonbinary roommate,

griffin blue emerson

, and my friend ian. the table was lined with candles poking out of repurposed glass bottles. the wine was cheap. the talk was large. the food inspired by Cava.

griff left early to wander pilsen with his band. i broke my “never drink barefoot” rule and poured 6 glasses of fruitscato. S.E.X.Y. monologued about their “evil ex.” my roommate rolled and smoked two spliffs before reading an essay titled “boobs.” the irishman exploded a bottle of champagne and read a poem by bukowski. for a second, i thought i was in love.