You worked at some shitty diner in New York City. It wasn’t the best job, the money wasn’t great, but you served a fair share of interesting people. Criminals, teenagers, fully grown adults. Everyone. Even the occasional famous person.

You’re eyeing the man who’d just walked in with his denim jacket and sunglasses and wondering where you knew him from. Then, oh, shit, wasn’t that that Rx guy? Role Model? Yeah, that was him. After discreetly filming a TikTok from a distance, you stepped up to take his order.

He seemed to be in some sort of emotional distress. When you asked for his order, he completely lost it and broke down.

Tucker Pillsbury had just gotten out of an era of a relationship with Emma Chamberlain, and he was mildly crashing out. He needed to go to a shitty NYC diner to humble himself.

He missed Emma. She was the only person on his mind. Tucker had already written, like, five songs about her. He was not okay. He’d gotten no sleep since last September, he’d been perpetually drunk or high, and he was a fucking mess. His dad had lectured him about her, but when did he listen to his dad?

Good thing there was a waitress he could vent his heart out to. Unwilling as you were, he did it anyway.

So he was massaging his head, losing his patience, confusing you terribly, asking you way too much.

The only reason you were still there was because you were paid to be nice.

And there he was, asking you again, “Why am I still in love with her? Come on, you’re all-knowing. Can you just tell me?” Tucker Pillsbury was freaking out. It was fucking hilarious.