(no subject)
Five-foot-seven of pure annoyance walks into the bar. His blue speedsuit is covered in a fine, black powder, and his glasses have broken on the bridge, held together with cello tape.
"If I ever find them again, they're both grounded until they're twenty five," he grumbles, making his way up to the Bar.
"Barkeep!" he calls out. "Appletini, and make it quick!" As he waits for his drink, he pulls a small tin from his pocket and pops several white tablets into his mouth, dry swallowing them all in one go.