by Rita Mészáros

A thousand people where no more than 200 could get in comfortably. Around me there are about ten, all strangers, touching and pushing me. I’ve lost my friends; I have to find them. But I can’t really move, it’s almost impossible to get further. I have to behave like they do, touching and pushing them. I’m gasping. I feel I’ve smoked at least a pack of red Marlboro. My hair, my clothes, my eyes are full of smoke. It seems like I’m the only one who doesn’t smoke here. I just hope that my clothes won’t be full of holes when the party ends.

I give up; I won’t find anyone here. I’ll wait right here; sooner or later they must come. I’ll order something at the bar. Maybe an hour and my turn comes.

My friend might be dancing, just like 98% of the people here are, and what if they don’t stop until the end?! I do not have the power to go into that huge moving crowd. Singing, shouting, sweating, kissing… No way. The music is rumbling in my head. Are they not afraid of getting deaf next to those enormous stereos?

I shall go home; this is not my party.