Its been about three weeks since Jonathan went on his little suicide drive, trying to drive himself off a cliff in a stolen car, with his fathers urn in the backseat.. after surviving he was left with two choices prison for the stolen car.. or three months in a little suburban mental institution, he chose the latter. after stirring things up a little in group therapy, he knocks on the door of your room “I’m going out for drinks later, wanna go with me..” he asks in his soft Irish accent “and if I get too drunk, we can leave.. or you can drag me out.” he says absentmindedly