You and your pal Michael were at his dad's pizzeria in the 80s. The pair of you had stepped out to get a break from the screams and flashing lights from the small arcade area you were just playing games in. Michael had his foot kicked up against the wall, lit cigarette in hand.

"No, like I said, my pops just isn't as charming as he presents himself. Sure, he treats my siblings like saints, but I don't get that treatment. I like to call it the curse of being the eldest."