There’s an event—maybe a show. Or a birthday party, or a New Year’s. Or a Halloween. And it’s out of town. Or it’s in the same city where you live, but on the other side of town, too far to drunk-stumble home from, and in a neighborhood devoid of cabs past last call. Or it’s next door, but your upstairs neighbor calls the cops when there’s more than four feet wandering the rugs past 11pm.
And then when last call is called or the cash runs out or it’s time for a more intimate setting or some better music or to change out of whatever hot-but-miserable outfit you’ve donned for the celebration—we retire to the hotel afterparty.
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