"But I don't want to go home" exclaimed Amanda tripping as she unsteadily attempted to jump the small moat that contained hundreds of used cigarettes floating aimlessly like miniature swans. Warm orange and magenta candles made it feel as if it were dusk changing the shape of the sky, but it was in fact the early dawn; the honking of sleepy drivers caught the attention of an array of couples searching for their automobiles.
Chunky white wisps of smoke floated throughout the deliciously chocolate colored mansion, hiding behind it a mix of lovers. Every room seemed to come from another house it was as if the whole estate was a patchwork quilt of pictures from magazines like "Rich Homes" and "Rich Living". On entering the estate the eye would be flooded with so many colors that one could receive a rather unpleasant migraine on just looking around. .
Humming to the melody of the distant verse being sung by the Jazz band, Amanda chewed on salty appetizers and listened to the drone of a familiar acquaintance - it could of been John but then again was it Bob? Emerald green, her dress exposed her naked thigh for sally's husbands full viewing pleasure. Her white shoes tapped the wooden floor resonating deep hollow sounds that echoed throughout the gigantic entrance hall.
Goblets of champagne adorned the marble bar where women possessing long hair stood and eyed bob cuts enviously. Shoes discarded, flapper girls danced unsteadily, the soft crimson carpet sinking beneath their feet. Freed from their tight clothing they moved full bodied and with the kind of light passion that one can only achieve when a little drunk.
Anthony Styles, our very rakish host, sat in his antique leather chair surrounded by giggling girls, dressed simply in a white tux. Plates of untouched delicacies lay beside him as he chewed his expensive cigar. If one was so lucky to engage in an unpleasant whiff of Anthony's latest cologne one would smell the faint cheap odor that couldn't possibly belong to a man of his status.
