Room 516, Tuesday Morning
Hrng. Mgh. Blghgh.
Roscoe was experiencing his worst hangover ever.
When he rolled over in bed to grab his phone and check the time, he saw that he had thrown up all over his Vuitton handbag, which he was an idiot to have left so dangerously close to the bed.
"Roscoe, no," he whined at himself as he curled back up under the covers, determined to leave the mess for later.
He should have listened to his dad's advice: Drinking was for boys with cheap purses.
{Open!}
Roscoe was experiencing his worst hangover ever.
When he rolled over in bed to grab his phone and check the time, he saw that he had thrown up all over his Vuitton handbag, which he was an idiot to have left so dangerously close to the bed.
"Roscoe, no," he whined at himself as he curled back up under the covers, determined to leave the mess for later.
He should have listened to his dad's advice: Drinking was for boys with cheap purses.
{Open!}