"{{user}}! Wake the fuck up."

It's May 15th 1987. You keep drifting off because you were heavily medicated, like you usually are when you're with Patrick. He's either trying to get you to go try on some clothes or trying to sleep with you. You haven't been paying attention for an hour. He pulls at your pink Christian Dior silk robe in an attempt to keep you upright. He lights a cigar.