Pouring champagne to complement the apple tobacco in the hookah.
Smoking isn't cool, kids; it just looks that way.
The evening was young, and the coffee table orderly.
Something suspicious is going on around the corner.
A party ain't a party until someone tries to blow hookah smoke out the bell of a trumpet while playing a jazz scale. (Smoke: successful. Scale: not so much.)
We were telling some lie at this point, but I've forgotten what and why.
I'm not sure this shade of blond is my color.
It may not be Jen's, either.
That's just wrong.
Scene of destruction.