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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]Macaroni and Cheese[/i][/center]

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3 A.M found Wyatt stood in the kitchen, a duvet draped around his shoulders, stirring away at a bubbling pot on the stove - much like the villainous, child-eating crones of fairytales - save for the fact that instead of a deadly concoction of toadstool and eyes of newt, the pot contained only the cheapest, store brand mac and cheese he could find.

...This was it. He’d [i]officially[/i] lost all control of his life. Why was he eating mac and cheese at three in the morning? He wasn’t even hungry, hell, he didn’t even [i]like[/i] mac and cheese.

Before he could lapse into yet another existential crisis over mac and cheese, however, he took the pot off the stove. Instant mac and cheese was bad enough as it is, but [i]burnt[/i] instant mac and cheese was even worse. Shit, how many times had the phrase [i]‘mac and cheese’[/i] popped into his head in the past minute? Probably more than a regular human being did in an entire year. [i]Not[/i] a good sign. His second day of unemployment, and Wyatt was already starting to stress eat like there was no tomorrow.

Instead of turning in for the night, however, he stayed up for another hour, doing absolutely nothing of value. The majority, if not the entirety of that hour was spent stuffing his face with all the junk food he managed to excavate from his disaster zone of a kitchen, while The Real Housewives droned on and on and on in the background. He probably could’ve kept going, but a chirp from his cell phone reminded him that he [i]really[/i] needed to get his shit together if this meeting with Tatiana was really going to happen.

Through bleary, bloodshot eyes, he read the email, arching an eyebrow as he did so. She wanted to [i]fly[/i] him down to NYC? Put him up in a hotel? This was beginning to sound more and more like a scam, but if it wasn’t, this would essentially be the deal of a lifetime.

[center][i][indent][indent]shit, you must be rly fucking rich. i can just take a bus, you know? or is this like... super urgent??

but yeah, tomorrow night’s cool with me. i feel really bad about it tho haha.. my full name’s marion wyatt rothenberg btw. wyatt’s actually my middle name, probably should’ve mentioned that a little earlier oops. also i’m gonna need the address for the shop, never been to nyc before, so yeah. looking forward to seeing you!!

- wyatt[/indent][/indent][/i][/center]
This time, Wyatt didn’t even think before he hit [i]‘send’[/i]. For all he knew, in approximately 24 hours from now, he’d be lying dead in a ditch - his tragic end fuelling a series of Public Service Announcements about the dangers of meeting with strangers on the Internet. But truthfully? He couldn’t muster enough energy to give a shit, and so, it was only then that he finally dragged himself off to bed, flopping face-down onto the squeaky mattress, and into sweet, sweet oblivion.