I didn't know the girl. She was really pretty.
By one in the morning I’d had enough of trying to approach girls I thought I might have seen around. Each conversation I’d tried to join had been about people I didn’t know, so it didn’t seem to make much sense for me to stay. If Lola had been there I knew she would have grabbed us both a drink and joined in, dragging me along with her. I’d spent the last two hours drifting between rooms on the ground floor. Right now I was standing watching a game of beer pong that appeared to have no definitive end, someone refilling a red plastic cup each time another one was drained. Half-hearted spectators reclined on sofas and chairs dotted around the room, hands resting sloppily on the knees of legs flung over laps, with various portions of skin on show. Intention was at once both intensified and all but completely forgotten within the din of misused drugs and unquantifiable measures. The general sense of enthusiasm seemed to undulate, revived every so often with a cheer ...