Taken to a Bar

A small limo with tinted windows pulls up outside your apartment building. Pft, this guy must just throw money at everything. You can't wait to meet him.

The driver rolls down the window, and confirms your name. "Hop in," he motions to the back. You do as he says, and see that the interior is a pristine and modern. Glass counters, leather seats, neon lighting. This is definitely a party mobile. You can just see you and your buddies travelling around in this, listening to music, catcalling girls from the sun roof, kissing next to the ice bucket. All the good times.

As the limo drives through the streets, you notice a watch on the counter next to the cocktail maker. You pick it up and see a note engraved on it, "for knowing where you belong". God damn that's a nice watch. A real status symbol, according to men's magazines. No harm wearing it for now, maybe you can ask this guy who owns it.

When you arrive at the location, you see you've been taken to bar. It looks surprisingly rougher than you would expect from the limo. Motorbikes are parked up outside, and you can hear rock music from here.

"Everything ok back there?" The driver calls out. Dude, you get it, you've gotta get out. But your stomach is suddenly doing knots. What the hell, it's never done that before! You've been to plenty of bars before, this is no different.

At the side of the entrance, you see what can only be a faggot. A thin guy dressed in a crop top and short shorts is leaning against the wall smoking. You couldn't caught dead in that stuff. Who the hell would willingly hang out with a guy like tha- oh he's waving at the limo now.