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[center][img]http://fontmeme.com/embed.php?text=Wyatt%20Rothenberg&name=Sweetly%20Broken.ttf&size=100&style_color=FFF6F0[/img]

[b]Location:[/b] [i]A Shitty One-Room Flat, Toronto[/i]
[b]Interacting With:[/b] [i]An iPhone 3G[/i], [s][i]also a Hot Pocket[/i][/s][/center]

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Because he was a jobless loser with nothing better to do, Wyatt set his phone aside and flipped on the TV to find reruns of The Real Housewives. It was awful – just terrible, really, but similar to a trainwreck, he couldn’t look away, especially when in a fit of rage, one of the cast members threw her prosthetic leg across the table. That wasn’t even a euphemism for anything. She literally took off her prosthetic leg [i](which looked very well-crafted, he might add)[/i], and flung it full-force across the room at the woman unfortunate enough to incur her wrath.

In the words of Johnny Bravo, he was sickened, but curious, and he’d never been one to judge a book by its cover, after all.

It was only after two hours had passed when Wyatt found himself at the edge of his seat, eyes glued to the screen, and wolfing down a Hot Pocket, that he finally understood how people could get hooked on these shows. There was drama, a lot of it, actually, and the fact that it came packaged in the form of angry, middle-aged women screaming at one another over the most asinine things? Wyatt didn’t know why, but that only sold it to him even more. Maybe he found a sick sort of comfort in seeing people more out of touch with reality than he was.

And then, a whistle from his phone snapped him out of his reality TV induced trance. Swiping a finger across the screen, Wyatt quickly navigated to the source of the notification; a reply to the email he’d sent earlier.

It wasn’t a long email, not by a long shot, but it didn’t stop him from taking way too long to formulate his own response. It [i]seemed[/i] genuine, at least, and there weren’t any alarm bells going off in his head saying that this was the work of a serial killer. But freaks were always the ones you least expect, weren’t they? He’d learnt that in prison, when he nearly got a shiv to the face after winning all the cigarettes off a bespectacled little twerp from Montreal in a game of Blackjack.

...Well, perhaps that wasn’t the best example, but hey, give him a break. Wyatt didn’t have a lot to work with, here.

Shaking the rather unpleasant thought out of his head, he wondered just what kind of mess he was getting himself into before starting to tap away at the keypad.

[center][indent][indent][i]yeah sounds cool with me. should i make a good or bad impression? bc i can do either lol

anyway, when do you need me to come over? i’m in toronto, so it’d be great if you could cover $60 for bus tix. i’m a line cook and i smoke too so no worries there. unless it’s camels. then we’re gonna have a problem

jkjk

- wyatt

ps. rly hope you’re not a serial killer btw that would suck :(

pps. shld i send a pic? ok that was weird just ignore it[/i][/indent][/indent][/center]