I knocked on the door and waited. Knocked again. Waited.
I walked into their house in my bare feet and my pajamas, hair wild, no bra, middle-of-the-night-breath. I suppose it was as scary as I’ve been seen in public ever in my life. I stood in the kitchen and waited for someone to notice me but they were dancing pretty hard, and it was super dark anyway. Aside from the strobe lights that blinked, synchronized to the low thumps of the rap music that bounced the pictures up and down on the adjoining wall between their living room and mine, I could hardly see a thing without my glasses on.
Then they saw me. Their faces lit up in recognition, then dropped in the panic of realizing why I must be standing in their living room at 2:30 in the morning.