Jun 18, 2019
he misses new york. he misses his penthouse, his friends, his big city lifestyle. whenever regret starts creeping up on him like this, the only w a y rocco knew how to get rid of it was how his mother taught you ------ a drink, and another. and another. and another. he’s only been here two months, hardly knows anyone by name ( and honestly; would he even recall them anyways ? ) and the loneliness is starting to really take it’s toll on his already fragile psyche. as he finishes another shot of whiskey, his eyes trail over to his left at the physique seated beside him, and he figures: fuck it. pulling out his wallet, rocco carelessly tosses a hundred dollar bill forward, to the bartender. “whatever they want, too.”