Cool droplets of rain patted against the window. You could hear the echoes of heels clicking on the hardwood floor and bounce off the high ceilings. The scent of perfume teased my nose as one by one artists arrived.
Murmurs filled the room, a melodic symphony of laughs and desperation filled the air. Confetti and splashes of wine covered the floor, while the birthday girl tossed her head back in laughter.
Everyone dressed effortlessly cool. Leather jackets, wild animal prints, sunglasses on inside. Their smiles were cold, their eyes were uninterested. This wasn't their first nor last stop of the night.
Once the bottles were empty and there were only crumbs of caviar left, people sauntered to the door. The murmurs deflated to whispers as one by one the artists left. I reached to the side table to grab my belongings and felt the sticky residue of a spilled vodka cranberry.
A sparkling shadow bounced off the chandelier as the light would meet the crystal. A painting hung above a large fireplace, lacking color and empathy but somehow remained engaging. Heels were left dispersed around the room, as women draped their bodies over the leather couches, sipping on bubbly champagne. I was quickly reminded, in that moment, that I did not belong.
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