he invitation promised a night of elegance. I’d spent two hours wrestling into this black dress. It was tight, but I had to admit the mirror didn’t lie. Ravishing. Absolutely wasted on these people.

I walked into the gala. The noise hit me first. The air thickened with desperate laughter and cheap perfume. Someone knocked a champagne tower over near the entrance. Glass shattered. A woman screamed dramatically, not because she was hurt, but because her $500 shoes were sticky. Welcome to high society. Pure, distilled Chaos.

Honestly, it wasn’t the broken glass or the horrible jazz music that got me. It was the host. He was standing by the ruins of the tower, wearing a crown of wet lettuce leaves. I had no idea where he got them. He just smiled, blissfully unaware. I was utterly Astonished. This is what passes for a good time. I needed a drink. A strong one. I should’ve stayed home.