The morning after the masquerade party. Three good friends, hungover and too wary to dare the walk down the narrow stairwell, reflect on the previous evenings antics. Laying in bed, our host was seemingly impervious to the poisons of the night and awoke bright eyed to the day. His house guests were however less ambitious and unwilling to venture out into the world without due diligence and glasses full of water. Slowly and cautiously they moved about the house testing their ability to function until gathering in the bedroom. Heads swimming in a dried up sea of synapses, they gave up their wanderings for a place to anchor themselves while weathering the tumultuous vestibular storm.
So, having collapsed into bed with the our host, the three good friends reminisced on the vivid and incomplete memories of the night. The plotted pranks, odd couples, and outright inexplainable happenings were puzzled together into a more coherent whole that left all wondering and teary eyed from laughter. “How did you find the monkeys?” The beautiful leather mask. “You were bit, where?” The goat DJ. “If you were gay, she would be your type.” It was all nothing less than ordered chaos and healthy frivolity beyond our own comprehension.
I, the fourth, sat of the floor loving the moment and nursing my glass full of antidote. In the soft, midmorning light, this voyeur at the foot of the bed saw the antithesis of the adventure unfold and lifted the camera. Just a few frames left, attempted to line-up the shot and found focusing hungover far more difficult than anticipated. Oh well, the shutter flew none-the-less and I was spied by my friends. I then manage my way over to them and joined the conversation, camera and all. Flipticit! The shutter, like the night before, did most the speaking for me.