“But there’s Chuck and Blair, in a limo, heading home. “You were amazing up there,” he says, and she crawls cutely toward him on the leather, and they kiss. Tenderly, if you can imagine it. It’s like the first boy and the first girl of all time. Dan’s propaganda is that he has no propaganda, and Serena’s is that she used to have propaganda and now she dresses like a cowboy and has no propaganda. Nate literally has no propaganda, but nobody will believe him about that. But Blair and Chuck, now: you could watch them dance burlesque for two hours and they still wouldn’t be done shedding all those clothes. More lies and veils and schemes all the time, so they can stay alive. And tomorrow is going to be hell, because nobody wants the shame of being seen, least of all these two. But that’s tomorrow: tonight, it only makes sense that they could do this so easily, and so carefully, so slowly and quickly, and so sweetly. See them holding hands? See him asking, “Are you sure?” See the screen go grainy again while that pop-punk keeps playing, and she climbs onto him in her little nightgown, and they make love, and the film falls off the projector altogether and burns itself white.”