Picture this:

A slightly crooked, worn wooden house sporting a splintered porch fitted out with stripper-like poles to hold up an ever cascading first floor balcony. The house is off-blue by nature, with blotchy neon paint oozing from cracks in the shallow walls. The muffled sounds of the creatures of the night is sealed by age-softened plaster board practically dripping from the ceiling to fill the void. Inhabitants and guests meander along the narrow corridors upon subsiding, jaggy timber floors following a path. Each path leads to a door. Each door shields the landscape of forgone opportunity that a combination of paternal hard-earned and easy come by Franklin’s have funded. Door A leads to the yard. The yard is a large open space where trampled, dead grass now lies. A combination of lack of water and quantity of guests have caused mud to form minute particles of dust that are frequently kicked up and inhaled by those in attendance. Plants exist, half cropped and dehydrated. Trees cower and ponder…forming a physical presence that shadows those below.

Door A opens onto a viewing deck much the same as the first floor balcony at the front of the house. Standing on the deck, a glance over the yard displays a sea of red cups filled with cheap beer and held by underage college students suited and booted. Attire changes by gender only. Females dressed in cropped daisy dukes, stringy tank tops and cowgirl boots. Males in baggy wife beaters, washed red cord shorts and Sperry boat shoes from the Spring/ Summer 2012 collection. Ping pong balls ascend and descend in the air with the intention of landing in strategically placed cups. A successful ball will dive into the pool of beer collected at the bottom of a cup, breaking the surface tension and causing millilitres of fluid to kick up and splash the table upon which the cup is sitting. The aforementioned table gasps for air as stray liquid continues to submerge the surface, forming an alcohol based infinity pool as its content seeps over the edge.

Guests standing on the deck are edged forward, closer to the perimeter of the yard as sound waves obliterate the nights silence. The sound is coming from 6 cylindrical speakers located in the front room which have been wired to a chunky 2 disc deck. The deck is manned by a short, spotty housemate sporting patchy facial hair above his upper lip and below his lower lip in a goatee like style. His fingers, plump and tired, occasionally flex and apply pressure to the upper-side of the spinning disk causing the speakers to emit an eerie scratching sound. Sweat leaking from multiple orifices trickles down the side of his cheek and eventually drips from the edge of his face. Droplets hit the surface of the deck and start to form a pool, much like the alcohol that continually gathers on the table in the yard. His technique and lack of musical knowledge ensures that the sound generated is nothing short of the talent acquired by a 4 year old banging together an array of kitchen utensils.

Sound waves travel throughout the rooms of the house, bending around corners and shooting into uninhabited cracks in the walls. Each wave from the speakers makes its journey towards two prominent guests. Guest A is a sleek, charming character dressed in the appropriate party gear with a baseball cap set backwards upon his head and paint strokes delicately set under his eyelids like the boot oil placed on the face of an NFL player. His build is slightly skinner than average, height around 6ft and posture currently slouched. Guest B has long fair hair, a great set and is quite petite. She is perched upon a rock looking at Guest A and talking frantically as if the contents of her words are forming vital information that will save A from his probable demise. Her words travel faster than the sound waves emitted from the speakers in the front room and are almost drowning out all other sounds. As time passes, she speaks quicker and quicker, the pace at which her lips are moving would now rival that of the jaw of a shark as it devours a meal. Quicker, quicker, quicker she talks until suddenly she stops. A twitch in her smaller than average brain travels into her thought path and causes her to formulate a question. A question so important that its premise will lead to further thought and eventually put in place the actions required to create an app that will revolutionise the act of asking questions as we currently know it!

Guest A: Can you hold still a minute? I need to take a picture and send it to my big to find out if she thinks you’re hot or not.