Afterparties are strange. After recently hitting one that felt very much like the typical Seattle speakeasy, I'll give the play-by-play of how early a.m. gatherings usually go down, for those who can't stay up so late. These scenes rarely vary much.

2:00 a.m.: Last call has its consequences. As we move on to the afterparty, we see the end of everyone else's night. Drunks are peeing on the sides of buildings, drinking out of paper bags in parking lots, or taking booze naps in their cars.

2:15 a.m.: We arrive and, unlike most normal parties, there's no warm-up period. The crowd's already trashed so they don't need to stand around making conversation or being awkwardly sober.

2:30 a.m.: Afterparties aren't fun without a hot dance floor, but here people are just standing around looking cool. This is partly somewhere to be seen, as you have to be invited or know someone to be here in the first place.

2:45 a.m.: Make-out time. Afterparties are good singles' clubs for those who didn't claim booty at the bar. You can smell the desperation and alcohol on almost everyone's breath.

3:00 a.m.: People start leaving in pairs. The ones who are left are getting tired and hopeless.

4:00 a.m.: Almost no one is still here, and the DJ is awkward, like it's really just time to go home. Most afterparties have a shelf life of about two hours. We decide to go pass out now, as anything that follows will most likely only get increasingly duller.

That's pretty much all there is to know about afterparties, except for the requisite cop risks. But everyone knows that's rarely an issue in this town.

Want The Stranger to crash your house party? E-mail partycrasher@thestranger.com with the time and location.