A pub table near the toilets. Bad choices are made immediately, and defended passionately. There’s talk of zombies, furries, screen addictions, heavy nuts, gratitude, and fathers who didn’t quite show up. The tone shifts like a drunk jukebox — earnest, dumb, briefly profound, then dumb again.

Someone almost redeems themselves with a quote about facing death; someone else ruins it with the phrase “tattooable quote.” A small mercy is found somewhere between honesty and idiocy, and for now, that’s enough.