it was just one of those nights. bojack couldn't sleep, he didn't feel like sitting through an earful from his apartment neighbor about how cigarette smoke reminds him about that one time he almost died in a house fire, now he can't smell smoke or he has some kind of episode ... whatever.
that was just something bojack wasn't dealing with today.
so he's walking around the campus nearby in his pajamas, his pack of marlboros stashed in his pocket and a lighter in the other as he's wandering around the empty outdoor halls. everywhere he looked, it was unoccupied and silent.
least there wasn't some crazy wacko trying to tell him he isn't allowed to smoke here. he's puffing on his already half-finished cigarette, walking in between buildings when a door slams open behind him.
❝ what the -- ❞ and now a gun was being pointed at him. is this how he was planning on ending his night ? the unfinished cigarette drops to the ground. ❝ my hands are up, my hands are up -- ❞
❝ wait ... ❞ he slowly puts his hands back down. ❝ huh. i didn't know that this is what you meant, talking about your off-hours, not working at the bar ... ❞
❝ put the gun down, i'm sweating bullets over here, ❞ he half-jokes. ❝ ... please ? ❞