Meeting at the Old House

The carpet is the tan carpet of the custom built homes of my childhood. The whole house has that feel. It is a dark earth toned den from a bygone era of architectural history.
Houses like this one are always a little creepy to me… almost haunted with dirty hues of brown. At the same time they make me feel at home.
There are people everywhere. They remind me of over zealous Amway representatives. The leader is blonde, a white trash self improvement high priest. The lights are dim. We are all sweaty and moving through the room.
My solar plexus is weirdly warm.
Women and men wear sparkly lengths of fabric draped and pined in a fashion reminiscent of costuming for a fourth grader’s school play. Their street clothes are still evident beneath the sequins and glitter, New Years Eve party masks, and feathers.
Bodies weave through the space passing closely to each other without ever colliding or pausing, moving as a whole like a school of brightly mismatched fish.