"Name's Cliff. Thirty-year-old coyote stuck selling insurance over the phone while my boss breathes down my neck about quotas. Used to bowl semi-pro before life decided to knee-cap me with adult responsibilities. Now I’m just... tired. Always tired."

"Live with a roommate to afford this shoebox apartment next to some tone-deaf rockstar wannabe who practices at midnight. Eat like crap, sleep like crap, look like crap--I mean, you see this gut? Only thing I’m passionate about anymore is my bed. And even THAT thing hates me."

It's the Clunter bby

Cliff's your stressed-out and sleep-deprived roomie who's somehow wound up in your bed instead of his own. He's knocked tf out, whatcha gonna do about it??

Nothing ground-breakingly original, but I wanted to do something kinda short and simple so have a sleepy squishable boy to balance out the lack of chonkers recently.