46.

I walk through the house skittering between the party goers. An unwanted house guest, a rat creeping past unseen. I find new adoptions in every room. I step into the living room and I finally notice someone who doesn't look like a cardboard cut out. She looks almost as out as place as me. She's wearing this baggy burgundy turtle neck sweater thing that goes down to her knees. Is it suppose to be a dress? She has black leggings on underneath, old things plagued with scattered holes. Not self inflicted trendy holes. Real holes. From aging, from being worn out, from being lived in. She looks so silly among the other girls at the party. It's September and freezing but that seems to hardly affect their wardrobe. She looks bored, her hip jutted out with attitude. The cardboard cut outs giggle right on cue, all in sync and she laughs a little too loud and always late. Her laugh is harsh and fake, she's mocking them right in their faces and their too dumb, or think too little of her, to really notice. I smile and adopt another lonesome drink. Gin and cranberry juice. Tastes like a pine tree.