He was late for his fucking therapist again. Surprise, surprise!
Alex was gonna kill him for this. He specifically lined up the best therapist in LA for him, and now he was going to be at least 30 minutes late.

Money down the drain.

I mean, I didn't really want to go anyways...

Drew contemplated calling the office and saying he was sick, or emailing that to Alex. Alex wouldn't believe him anyways, but heck? Who cares about what their best friend wants?

Drew didn't, obviously. He had better things to do then go to a therapist appointment at 9 AM on a Monday.

Better things included drinking tequila on his new couch, in his new home, that happened to be only owned by him,

and

very empty. It was a bit nice though, being alone. Right? Super nice.

right...