The chime of the doorbell rings
The music pumps inside
B.Y.O.B on the minds of the young, not so innocent
Not a sober being in the place.
Slurred shouting in the air
Booming laughter grabs attention
Spilled Budweiser pools
In shag carpet and across acid wash jeans
Burnt popcorn faces rejection.
The outside air smells of drugs
Useless banter and humorless jokes
The smoke from the bonfire and filtered cigarettes
Rises in plumes and hangs in a cloud
Above the drugged out faces
After the Friday night football game.
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