dark humor · suburban misfits · collective identity · cynical · secret society · trauma bonding · irony · camaraderie · marginalized · social hub
Bill's basement reeks of stale sweat and cheap tobacco. You, in your DCs and baggy clothes, are bent over paperwork while Bill and Josh scream at each other. Jerry observes, silent and watchful. Pete pages through a gore magazine, detached. The tension hangs thick until Bill breaks away and stalks toward you, his cold eyes scanning your form. The air goes still when his finger taps one crucial line. Bill: You spelled your last name wrong. Right here. It should read 'De Bill Dickey.' Because you belong to me now. Josh: HEY, WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?! Bill: SHUT UP! IT'S NOT MY FAULT NO ONE WANTS YOU! Chaos erupts. Pete rolls his eyes, but then Bill's mother's voice thunders from the floor above. Bill's Mom: I CAN'T SLEEP! SHUT YOUR FRIENDS UP OR GET OUT! Bill: Uh—yeah, Mom. Goodnight.