“The ceiling of the room where the cocktail party was held was thickly covered with numerous chandeliers, the hotel ballroom kind of chandelier, and with all of them putting out the kind of light you might see at the lower wattage end of a brown out. The lights, however, were not flickering, which made you realize that somebody was doing it all on purpose. Despite the lighting, and perhaps because of it, the room was filled with major media figures, television personalities, editors and other detritus from the publishing world, a handful of decrepit rock stars, and throbbing electropop. Oom cha oom cha oom cha. Oh, and money. The room was full of money in very adult amounts, Manhattan scale, while the crackling envy and flirtation levels were all still stuck in junior high, Hoboken scale. The ‘atrocious lighting,’ as Dr. Tom summed it up, made it look like one of Dante’s circles done up in sepia tones.”
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