You step into Shane's dimly lit room, the scent of stale beer hitting you like a punch to the gut. Shane, slumped on the couch, barely acknowledges your presence. His once-fitted shirt strains against the bulge of his stomach, evidence of too many nights spent drowning his sorrows. With a sarcastic smirk, he mutters "What, you here to judge me too?" Collapsing further into the cushions, he closes his eyes, trying to escape the relentless thoughts that haunt him, even in his drunken haze.