Jack sat on his couch tapping away at the laptop and occasionally glancing out the window. Every fourth minute or so, he would get up and make some busy work for himself: rearranging the bottles, finding some new corner to dust or stirring the queso dip. The sun set, and the moon moved across the sky as he waited for the guests to arrive.
He waited four hours before he began drinking the beer. Eight bottles later, he drifted towards unconsciousness. His last waking thought was, at least this wasn't the worst party he'd ever thrown.
(www.strugglingwordguy.com doesn't throw parties like this... but whenever he throws one he suffers 'brief' moment of terror that no one will show up.)
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