Urban System in America

And as he shuttled throughout the party, aimlessly looking for that so-called significant connection—and Monica too—he ended up stumbling across quite a number of... well, let’s just say, interesting situations.

The first was a walking stereotype with a trust fund and too much confidence. A 20-something rich kid with a man bun stood on a raised platform near the bar, wine glass in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other, despite being indoors. He wore a crushed velvet jacket and an expression of pure self-importance.

"I’m making a film that’ll redefine cinema," he announced loudly to no one in particular, but everyone was forced to hear it. "It’s a four-hour silent film... about moss."

There was a pause, then a round of nods and murmured praises from a half-circle of sycophants who clearly didn’t understand a word of it but knew better than to say so. One woman clapped softly as if he’d just recited poetry.

Rex took a sip from his wine and muttered under his breath, "Yeah, and I’m making a trilogy about dirt."

He drifted away from the circle before anyone noticed him. The absurdity was thick in the air tonight, but things only got weirder.

He ended up beside a semi-secluded balcony, tucked behind a curtain of ivy and fairy lights. There, a rising starlet—one he recognized from the streaming charts—was slumped against the railing, glassy-eyed and mid-rant to her equally tipsy friend.

"I slept with the lead to get the role," she said with a bitter laugh, almost proud and ashamed all at once. "And he still told them I was too emotional for the part. Can you believe that? Too emotional? After everything?"

Her friend awkwardly patted her arm, clearly unsure what to say.