I thumbed the wedge of lime gracefully from the edge of my glass as I sank back down into the big, overstuffed cushion of the bamboo papasan chair that centered the living room.

Ambient yellow-orange light simultaneously ascended and descended about the room. Incandescent bulbs commanded the nature of its of glow, while the subtle sounds of bass-heavy mood rock followed the lights’ lead, bouncing and falling about the house in every bit as natural a manner. The scent of vanilla candles lightly traced the air, while the cycling ceiling fan overhead gently swayed it about in a calm but active fashion. In essence, it was like every other house party I’d ever been to – accept, of course, for the drunken conversation Rich and I were having.

“I used to think the path we follow in life is cyclical. Or maybe a big spiral,” I began, pausing momentarily to swig liberally from my recently refilled gin and tonic. “I mean, it’s kind of like riding a carousel. Sure, your little pony has its ups and downs, but ultimately, the path is rigid and you're just traveling in one big circle - never getting any closer to the friends in front of you or further away from the ones behind.”

Peering into my words through big, drunk, dreamy, hazel eyes, Rich gave my theorem a moment’s thought while twirling the little black swizzle stick in his cape cod. “But a carousel is only a ride. We get on, we get off. And the order is kept the same.” He paused to sip from his drink before continuing, “It sounds to me like you’re trying to relegate time with the constant ebb and flow of friendships in your life. People come and go. And no manner of metaphor is ever going to be able to make sense of when or why that happens. You just have to accept it and enjoy the times you have with people while they’re here - with you.”

I gave his words some consideration, readjusting my body in the big enveloping cushion of the papasan chair to angle myself more toward Rich without having to crane my neck quite so drastically. “So, is that just a come on?” I countered playfully. “Is it a lead-in to some argument that is meant to convince me that moments are fleeting and each must be seized, not unlike our own little chance encounter here tonight?” I continued the exchange, wryly curling the edges of my lips as I maintained my deep gaze into his swirling eyes.

Chuckling, Rich easily fielded my serve and continued the volley. “I’m not gay.”

“Neither am I!” I interjected, scoffing at the notion of his indignation. “But at least I’m not a goddamned prude about it!”

Now laughing outright, Rich eyed me inquisitively before questioning, “But, I thought you were gay…?”

“Oh, okay, I am. You got me,” I began, setting my now empty glass down on top of the little wine fridge that was situated next to the papasan I had claimed as my resting spot for the evening. “And it’s all I can do to keep myself from ravaging you, right now.”

“What’s stopping you?” he slurred seductively through terse lips while choking back the last gulp of his cape cod.

“Well, for starters, we’re at a party. And I’m not sure that our host would appreciate two of his guests bumpin’ uglies in the middle of his neat little dining room