WHEN : oct 15th, 1995 ; hemingway's birthday party <3 WHERE : thoreau & whitman's apartment STATUS : open to everyone
"man, i love a sunday party. hope all of us show up with a raging hangover tomorrow," hemingway chuckles as he finishes making his drink—a very unsophisticated mix of vodka and some disgustingly sweet soda. it's great. about ten more of these and maybe he'll start feeling them.
"thanks for being here, by the way. i really appreciate it," he grins at them, warm and genuine. he's only learned to enjoy his birthday in the last ... five ? six years ? ( does it even matter ? considering ... ) before then, it felt like an uncomfortable burden; a rock stuck in your shoe you can never get rid of. who knew you just needed the right people to make it better ?
"i'm making everyone sing karaoke. it's my party and y'all sing if i want you to," he sings the words to the tune of the lesley gore song, then bursts out laughing. "i think london should do cyndi lauper."