The party animal is a dangerously distracted socialite.
He projects recklessly because it makes him feel impenetrable when he makes it to the roaring applause coming from the otherside – created by a wave of relatable types that he ultimately considers friends.
In being how he is, the socialite expects the otherside.
He expects to make it to his comfy bed and wake up when the sun rises so that he can dabble in a little bit more of that trademarked self-indulgence.
As he leaves the bar, he realizes that he’s missed the train back home.
Son of a gun. Oh well.
He laughs about the long walk he has now in the cold – expecting a well-heated apartment waiting for him.
And then he steps on an unlatched sidewalk cellar door – plummeting into a subway abyss – dead on impact with the pavement below.
Life is a big party until that party is nothing but 200 words in the newspaper’s obituary section.
Until tomorrow doesn’t come, as expected.
Guys like Vigour – they abandon caution, believing they’ve forced the law of probability to play to their advantage.
They’ll leave their doors and windows open, inviting everyone to join them in soaking up the cheap thrills of an audacious lifestyle – until mortality lets itself in to remind everyone that he’s been watching from a distance.
It goes over all those moments where all you had to do was step out of your own bubble to see the forest for the trees – how something like this could’ve been avoided had you taken your focus away from your hedonistic binge.
But even as you stare into the empty eye sockets of your own mortality, you deduce it as something you can simply overcome.
Even as the consequences breathe against the nape of your neck, you refuse to turn around to take stock of where your own distractions have led you.
Right to me, Vigour.
Are you laughing now?
Odds say that you are – and that you’re even accepting of a completely different animal crashing your party. He’ll bring the kind of energy that instantly changes the momentum of your festivities, and you’ll probably regret ever leaving the invitation open to anyone or anything.
You’re so confident that you’ll figure out a way to get this under control so that you can rest it off and come back to it all as you see fit.
But that’s not how things work in my world, Vigour.
You’ve sold off your inhibitors for a piece of wild independence on the edge, and failed to recognize that this land was claimed far before you were ever an idea.
For all of the things that you’ve managed to get right –
I am a different animal.
I have crashed your party.
But at the moment where you feel like you’ve got a footing on what’s happening, there lies the sidewalk cellar door.
And suddenly you realize, I’m not leaving.
The terms and conditions that you tossed away as you’ve chosen this lifestyle will be drawn red upon your walls, and a dance of eternity will commence, Vigour.
And the only one left laughing in the end…
Will be me.