Late night parties bored Daniel. Not because he couldn’t socialise but because such parties seldom ended well.
The interns at work had invited him to a New Year’s Eve party once, and as they entered what appeared a refurbished garage, Daniel had groaned to himself. Disco lights had lined the ceiling, reflecting off the beer bottles in dancers’s hands.
Everything that night had spelled extravagant vanity—copious wine and cheese, barrels of beer, piles of nachos, grilled meat, biscuits and cakes—all shrouded beneath a layer of cigar smoke.
He’d left without a goodbye. He was no longer forever 21 material.