For a good time, call.

At one point in my life, I knew how to party. I also used to live in a warehouse in Sydney with 18 other people, of different nationalities and backgrounds.  There was some sort of party going on in the front room 24/7.  But when we really put our minds to throwing a shindig, lives changed.  I have proof.

A decade later I was back, having drinks in a random backyard in Erskineville with the neighbors of some friends of my friends, and the subject came up: house parties vs. going out.  Everyone came down on the side of house parties.  And one girl in particular just had to tell us about the BEST party she’d ever been to, the one that taught her what real partying could be, like some sort of perfect teen coming-of-age film – a porno themed party.

“Ten years ago, it was.  On a night just like this.  In a giant warehouse where all these crazy people lived.  With two dance halls, 2 DJs and a mirrored dance floor, and a giant movie theater showing classic 70s porn, and everyone dressed really slutty…”

And there she was, a decade later, living proof that my good times had reverberated across time and space, sharing a pizza and having laugh with the same best friends whose penchant for outsized camaraderie had once again touched her life with a beer and a chuckle.

Fucking legends.