It was the melancholy feeling of returning home alone after a night out. To the cold, silent air with half open curtains letting in rays of moonlight. Clothing on the floor, a nearly empty drink on the counter. The remnants of excited apprehension. But the choruses of laughter faded on that long drive home. The lights and the colors and the celebrations were gone, and he was back to an unmade bed and creaky floorboards, the jingle of keys on the counter as loneliness kicked its shoes off and opened an empty fridge. 