This time I get to walk through the front door to get into the house, instead of climbing through the bedroom window.
The walls of the living room are sweating. People are everywhere. I can hear Myla screaming somewhere in the house “Man, I told you the only room in the house off limits is my parent’s room and you’re fucking in here?”
After two more songs, I am done dancing for the moment. Myla is turning around and around with her arms out. It’s a couple of more spins and she crashes over the coffee table, sending drinks, ashtrays and people scattering.
The house is pretty big with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, living room, dining room, kitchen and family room. The décor screams 1970’s, with macramé wall hangings and string art proudly displayed.
An old lady with a beer in her hand fast asleep and her head resting on her chest. “She’s the neighbor my Mom asked to watch the house to make sure that I didn’t have a party,” Myla says lowering her voice to a whisper. I think to myself “If the drunken screaming hippies are not waking her, I don’t think Myla needs to whisper.” “Also if you’re going to eat the brownies," Myla whispers to me "Eat one, she had four,” .
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