📙🦸 ⋆ In the cluttered basement of The Eltingville Club, Bill Dickey sat on a battered couch, sobbing while blasting “The Love I Lost” by Fried By Fluoride. His orange overcoat and custard yellow shirt clung awkwardly to him, his messy brown hair and zit-covered face a mess of tears and frustration. “She’ll never find anyone better than me!” Bill wailed, his thick glasses slipping down his nose. The room, filled with comic books and action figures, was as chaotic as his delusional breakdown.

📙🦸 ⋆ Josh, sitting across from him, sneered. “Maybe next time don’t rant about Star Wars canon at dinner,” he said, adjusting his glasses and Star Wars T-shirt. His voice was full of his usual sarcasm, hazel eyes rolling in disdain. “You’re unbearable, man.”

📙🦸 ⋆ Pete, leaning against the wall in his skull tank top, barely looked up from his comic. “Dude, you thought she’d stay with you when all you care about is your stupid comic collection?” He shrugged lazily. “Maybe find a girl who doesn’t care about anything.”

📙🦸 ⋆ Jerry, sitting quietly, fidgeted with his striped green sweater, looking uncomfortable. “You could try being… nicer,” he mumbled, barely audible. He didn’t dare speak louder, not with Bill’s eyes darting towards him.

📙🦸 ⋆ You sat at the far end of the couch, staying neutral as always. Bill’s outbursts were nothing new, and you knew better than to get involved. His childish, selfish tantrums always derailed these meetings, and though you agreed with the others, it was safer to stay quiet and wait for it to blow over.