The party was getting under way,
Stiffly, slowly.
The way they drank was unholy,
They hovered round the glass-filled tray
Ravenously
Like birds of prey.
White, intense;
With mask-like faces
Frozen in rigid, gay grimaces,
They chattered and laughed
Stony-eyed:
Impatient:
Hasty:
Preoccupied.
They drank swiftly, as though they might
Drop dead before they were perfectly tight.
- Joseph Moncure March, “The Wild Party”