I went to this party once in this huge loft in Soho. The host of the party had decided to invite...oh, pretty much everyone to his house for drinks and dancing. And we get there and there are just waves of people. We're all mushed in together, all elbows and pushing and cigarettes-become-dangerous. It felt like being inside a crowded subway car--it was that uncomfortable and about as personal.

At some point I noticed people writing on the walls in permanent-marker. They were mostly scribbling. A few played tic-tac-toe. Every white surface was ripped soon by huge black and red gashes.

There's a hand on my ass and my nose is in someone else's collarbone. The music is so loud it's no longer music, and the jolting hasn't stopped since we stepped into the room.

I am handed a plastic cupful of something lukewarm. As I take it, there's a smash and half of it spills on my dress. But my friends don't notice because they've started yelling into the ears of strangers. So I just lean my head up and stare at the ceiling, feeling exactly like I do in the movie theater when everyone else is looking at the screen and I'm turning 'round to stare at the people.