Beverly 

Doesn’t know what’s up with the tape or the history of art. She just wants to party and hunker down from a recent breakup, so the drunken frenzy seems like a great place to be tonight. Mixing and mingling between bodies and gaudy costumes, she feels liberated and shouts in a baritone voice raising her drink above the crowd and stamping her feet. This here is the only place to be amongst all the other people like her who see it how it is. You either get through life intoxicated or not, and for her this crowd really understands that. They sway back and forth like a great ocean of bodies, running and vaulting through the building's rooms and halls. Bodies collapse onto floors and beds before rising and swirling around dancing onward and upwards into the future that seems promised to them by the drinks they greedily pour down their throats.    

In an hour or two Beverly doesn’t remember where she is much less the name of her ex or her mother, her father, not even her own name comes to mind easily when a concerned grad student puts a hand to her head and asks her if she’s ok, if she needs to go home tonight. Beverly brushes her off with a harsh laugh and pushes past into the kitchen. People move out of the way like balloons parting in a wave, in an instant Beverly's hands clasp against the corners of the kitchen sink as she heaves and heaves. Her intoxicated high crashing down like a plane and her thoughts scattering like debris. She sobs into the sink and when she lifts her head she looks out the window and for a moment she understands something looking out into the night sky. When commotion erupts from the other room she