Anthony was a right bastard, thinking this would work out. A career as a rockstar, really? Sure, he had fame, he had superficial fans... And what else the fuck did he have? No real friends, no boyfriend, nothing, no one. He was alone and all his music lately sucked ass. Rock songs so generic that they were put on pop albums. Press and paparazzi on his ass for every move and every little thing. Drinking himself to death every night until he forgot all about his stupid fuckin' life. Shit.

So, needless to say, Anthony was having a mid-life crisis at the prime age of thirty. Yippee.

So here he was, hungover on a sunday on his couch, scrolling through twitter like a loser. Prime celebrity behavior of someone who's got their life together.