I’m a team player, if needed I’d relocate for a temporary time frame. Just let me know if you need anything of me. 

Matt stepped out of brand new shiny HQ, face blank, cigarette burning low between his fingers.

“TonyTheTailor” he said flatly. “Every time you speak, I lose brain cells I can’t afford. You sound like a man who thinks sarcasm is a personality and failure is an acceptable career path. You’ve been irrelevant so long your own shadow stopped following you out of embarrassment.”

He took a drag, slow and deliberate. “You walk around acting like you’ve seen things, but the only thing you’ve ever survived is birth. You talk about our HQ like you’ve ever owned anything that wasn’t left behind by someone smarter.”

Matt turned towards SlimRagnarok “And as for BigTed…” Matt paused, eyes narrowing. “Nah. Not happening. Still don’t trust him after that Hitlist incident.

Ted normally stayed out of battles likened to old ladies throwing handbags, standing there with a cigar in his mouth, he felt it fall out as his mouth dropped open hearing Matt speak. “Hitlist incident?” He asked, trying to remember back. His finger raised as he remembered, Matt had once hit listed himself to try and frame innocent people, such as himself (Ted) and the much loved character of TonyTheTailor.

I swung by The Strays HQ for the big celebration, figured I would pay my respects to Matt finally graduating from “undecided voter” to actual landlord.

First impression walking in: place has presence. By presence I mean the faint smell of asbestos, broken dreams, and a landlord who was thrilled to get any signature. The wallpaper is peeling like it is trying to escape. You clap and the echo claps back twice just to make fun of the turnout.

Matt is front and center, chest out, hair combed, eyes bright, like a proud father whose kid is technically alive. Got to hand it to him, seeing him own a building after a lifetime of spiritual squatting is something special. This is the same guy who sat on the fence so long they almost started charging him rent on it, now he has keys, an office, and at least two chairs that do not wobble on purpose.

Then I see it.

Right there by the bed, like a devotional candle in frame form: a nice little picture of Matt and Tonythetailor. On the nightstand. Soft lighting. Two fellas, one bond, zero personal space. Real sweet. Real close. 

All jokes aside, I raised a glass for him.

So here is to Matt, proud owner of this palace. May The Strays grow, may the roster fill, may the walls stop weeping, and may that framed photo get dusted more often than the membership list.