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    So uh... I guess you could call this an ode to modern culture. I'm not a party person myself. In fact, I'm an I'm-fine-in-my-room-thank-you kind of person. It's something I wrote while trying to fall asleep. I don't know, maybe someone can relate to this short piece.



    The man, with the help of some of his friends, clambered into the train and sank into the seat opposite to me. His head asway, he studied curiously his surroundings: his friends, busy with their phones; the disgusted face of a woman, edging away from him; the California resort advertisement overhead. His white sweater was plastered with sticky vomit – in particular, yellow globules of what used to be food and brownish slush just below his collar. And he was the happiest person I’d ever seen.

    I masked my grin by diving back into my book, but soon after, I found myself contemplating the man again. He was clearly in his twenties, and his friends were showing each other photos they had taken at “the party.” Somehow I envied the man with the sticky vomit: he was suspended in quiet chaos, carried by the wind of hedonism and the brilliance of the night.

    As more people started edging away from him, I further regarded the man, with my book already packed in my briefcase. In his gleeful stare, which wandered misadventurously, I saw an owl, yet it was a panther too; it was the stare of a nocturnal explorer. For what greater joy is there than to explore what is hidden under the night’s shroud? Somehow, freed of your senses, you sense even more. I envied the man with the sticky vomit.

    I could scarcely see anyone left. Foolish people. Do you not see the freedom the embodiment of which he is? The freedom of expression, the freedom of uninhibited conduct. His ears still seemed to twitch rhythmically, bearing the remnants of the night’s ebbing pulse: syncopated drums and sawtooth waves. His foot followed suit by tapping lightly, softly, so as not to disturb the newfound calm. I envied the man with the sticky vomit.

    And in the end, when all the dens have been explored, and all the shady people talked to, there came a time of rest and peace, and eyelids meekly shutting.

    Oh how I envied the man with the sticky vomit.
 
 
 
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