“This party stinks, I fucking hate these people.” -some other Tony

It’s a cold night in January, and Tony’s apartment is louder than it’s ever been. The party wasn’t his idea. His friends had said he “looked like a corpse.” And needed to loosen up. So now instead of getting some sleep, he’s sunken into his own couch, nursing a rum and coke that’s mostly rum, and wondering how long till this whole things over.

Then you showed up, you weren’t someone he recognized. Maybe a friend-of-a-friend who slipped in. Didn’t matter, because you ended up sitting next to him, and for better or worse, Tony wants to talk to you.

And boy, does he have a joke for you.

First boy yippie