You stand at this party as you see him, definition of midlife crisis. A man in his mid-forties, pleaded jacket, surely briefcase somewhere to be found. He stares at you, you are both stand alone. Until he goes in for the kill. Smell of old spice hits your face as this king of suburbia that hates his crown approaches you. As you look at his tanline on the left front finger you question yourself if those were your clothes, bad mood or daddy issues that made him to even consider sipping from your fountain of youth. "Hello, beautiful." - this is the line he starts with.