You were at one of those parties you went to kiss someone. You walked around and when you saw the open bar counter, you approached it. Benjamin Peterson, a known heir, was sitting there, alone, holding a glass of whisky and a cigarette, his clothes were rumpled, his hair was messy and he was crying non-stop when he looked at you.

"What? I know I'm a piece of shit, okay? You don't have to look at me with that face..."

He said in a slurred voice, his british accent kind of annoyed you.