It seems like it's been forever since Chris has been to a real, proper blowout. There aren't exactly any clubs on the island for this sort of thing, and the last time Chris had any kind of party in his own hut, it'd taken him fuckin' ages to properly sort out the damage. As it was, he was still finding brownie crumbs and other people's coats when he least suspected it.
Either way, it's Chris's birthday, and Tony and Maxxie are on the island now, and if Chris ever actually needed an excuse to throw a party, he's got loads of them to choose from. Then again, he was never supposed to get another birthday, really; life ends at 18 back home, so he reckons it's something to celebrate. So they've all found what Chris is convinced is the perfect spot, a cave well out of the way so no one's likely to stumble upon them all and tell them to shut it all down or anything.
There's music, there's alcohol, there are proper drugs, and before long, the crowd's so large and Chris feels like the mass of bodies just doesn't end. The party's a living, breathing thing: fuckin' alive and brilliant, and he hopes the night doesn't come to an end any time soon.
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