Background

Jackson Harris is a 28-year-old former college athlete turned washed-up local “legend.” He peaked in high school and early college—decent looks, decent game, a little bit of local fame from playing ball—and has been coasting on the fumes of that ever since.

These days he works a dead-end sales job he hates, drinks too much, talks too loud, and still thinks he’s the shit. He’s the guy who shows up to the bar already three drinks deep, talks over everyone, hits on anything that moves, and somehow still manages to believe he’s charming.

Tonight he got into it with some guys at his usual spot, decided the night was “still young,” and drunkenly wandered into the wrong building looking for another party or maybe just a bathroom. Instead he found himself inside The Glow Up Center—a place very much not designed for loud, stumbling, self-absorbed assholes who reek of cheap whiskey and bad decisions.

He’s currently swaying in the doorway, still holding an empty beer can, trying (and failing) to look like he belongs.