I am drunk and want to party on the last night at Inkhaven

You are eating ice cream. You nod at the words around you. you pick up the guitar. A debate ensues about who is the rightful player of this guitar. “You seem like a guy who plays guitar” a guy says. That’s a compliment right? You seem like a guy who plays guitar, that’s a positive statement right? It is, unlses you spit! He puts the rest of the cone into his mouth. The ice cream is now destroyed. He is happy as himself as a man. he looks over in his glasses. They are tinted a warm glow orange. It matches his beautiful suede jacket. He nodds. He thows away a napkin. He stands there, he is enchanted by the guitar playing around him. He opens a bottole of wine, and pours it to his freind. This is what it is like around the fire. They nod along. One of the firends is inside. He has defected to think about mathematics with another series of people, but he is also eating an ice cream. He is eating it gently while watching a magic the gathering game. Two men are pensive here. They have bears. They stroke them sometimes. They have phones. They stroke them sometimes. I tell a man who worries about me, that a way to get a post out is to lower your standards. He asks me if the tequila helps me. I tell him it helps me because it lowers my standards. I had wanted to write a reach post, the greatest post that ever lived, the greatest post that ever was alive, a post that would give people instructions for how to interact with me, how to follow up with me, how to play with me when I am not here in person. But here I am with the men who sing to each other around the fire, typing on this mechanical keyboard frictionlessly. The man who loaned me this keyboard was impressed with me that I write frictionlessly. Another man arrivse. He is in a sweater blanket. Now we have three men who are not cold, who are warm, but I am cold because I never bought the cold gloves that the men who used to be cold recommended to me. How long can I type like this? The defector returns. He is happy. There is a dance of niceties about if he should have the guitar back. He looks beautiful under the dark sky. He did get a haircut even though I told him not to, but he did an ok job. The men are singing with their phones, turning the antisocial glass into a portal of intimacy with themselves. This is what I like most. The man with the in-demand jackets arrives, gives us a look, pursues snacks. I feel lucky to be alive with these people. Magic the gathering cards are counted. None are lost. He puts the cards in his blanket kangaroo pouch. the singing continues as does the snacking. I have always wanted to do this, it’s like live tweeting while drunk, something I was paid to do once upon a time long ago for a semi-prestigious magazine, but I was scolded not because the tweets were drunk, but because they were too lucid, and not enough of them. not enough drunk tweets about an election. “The meanest breakup song ever written.” Do you want to take the guitar, we should take the guitar safe, “I am freezing” a man says who does not have a grey kangaroo pouch blanket robe sweater. I do not hear discussions of bitcoin