Shiny unicorn manes, cheap plastic headbands that always snap on the second wear. Bright white lights that cause your scalp to itch incessantly. Speckled floors, patched with dull stickiness. Neon lights, plastic music, a false lustre.

A face plastered with powder sat reluctantly on top of sinking yellow gunk. Not really blending in, nor properly standing out. A deceptively dewy sheen drawn from ear to mid-cheek. Not a beautiful shine; something attemptingĀ in vain to cover up the decay beneath. A subtle sign of failure to accept the inevitable.