Hopper was far from wanting to be interrupting a spoiled rich kid’s party but the amount of complaints, he was getting from this one location in particular, was driving the poor man up the wall. Once he got the twentieth call, he finally was responding to the call. God—he hated spoiled rich kids.

He harshly knocked on the door, Madonna was being blasted through the loud speakers, the yard was littered with solo cups and cigarettes butts.

The door opened, revealing the pretty disturbance.