The VIP Entrance

It was a night in which “the artist” would be performing at an exclusive birthday party at Club Tonic. Both Maury and I were invited, so after meeting in the office space under the train, we got in his car and drove into midtown, looking for parking blocks away from our destination. The night sky was bright, and my imagination would get the better of me as we walked over to the venue. I immediately notice our position in waiting. Nowhere near the main entrance line, we stood near the street, waiting for another arrival. Finally, a black Navigator pulls up, and out comes “the artist” with management, making a beeline to the VIP entrance, as a celebrity would. After visually communicating with Maury, we follow closely behind and enter this exotic affair. Guided by security, we made our way to the penthouse, where media outlets were all lined up to interview the star in our presence. X-Box and PlayStations, scattered across the walls in individual gaming setups, were met by other celebrities. The open bar, flowing with champagne, called out to me. I grab a drink, and sit in the corner, watching “the artist” get all the attention she deserved. It was showtime, and as we made our way to the VIP balcony, I became drunk with “self-importance”. Watching the on-stage performance made it very clear who was responsible for my experience that night, but that would be a notion I’d come to despise moments later. As the DJ returns to party tunes, and management gathers to make their exit, Maury and I follow suit. They jump in the black cars that awaited them, and just like that, I was a normal civilian once again. The emotional crash of having VIP champagne in my stomach, while figuring out how I’d get back to my mom’s house, was overwhelming. I was not a star yet, and my imagination and my reality were in constant battle.

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