Walking down the street of Detroit - with a jolted spark in his step, Bob rushes towards his location, fine wine and dining seem to be his regular. Confidence surrounded him, women went after his money 'and his moustache' - life was good for him.

With the Jacket and his colours, Bob took to the only place that he could slip a hundred dollar bill and not get kicked out because of his attire. finding his little spot in the corner of the room where glass windows coated the back wall as if they were trying to go for something futuristic - the draft from the window was more of a relief. With a waiter walking up to him - he takes a look at his jacket and stylish moustache, and grovels towards him as he awaits the order. Bob looking strangely towards the waiter that's on the floor with the a note-pad in his hand - Bob gives a slight cough. The waiter see's it's not JoeyO and gets back up;

"Sorry Bob, you know how Joey gets when I don't do that," The waiter responds, seemingly interrogated by his own imagination,

"Err, Yeah - you have to sort that out, that's probably not okay that he makes you do that.." Bob pauses as he takes out a Cigar, "Y-you can still smoke in here right?" Bob questions, as the waiter laughs,

"Of-course, tobacco is proven to be healthy - if anything, you're giving everyone the health benefits," Taking a chuckle, the waiter takes out his notepad again and takes Bobs order.

With a few bread sticks and a couple of sips of the complementary wine - Bob see's his food come out - a diamond plate with a steak sitting with some sauce coating lightly on top - accompanying with two mint leaves on top, "Thanks Jerry," Bob puts down the glass of wine and grabs a knife and fork; Sitting there, looking at the steak, he started to cut - as he began he quickly stopped. There was something missing, 'There's something missing' Bob thought to himself.

As if flash backs, he remembered what his life was like before-hand. Simple. With a wife and kids, him being a husband with responsibilities and taking care of his family, how Gene used to use his armpit to use fart noises to annoy him. Louise that constantly wore rabbit ears around her neck even though it started to stink the place out, and Tina... really not much Bob could find it in himself to say he could miss, 'Maybe the glasses?' Bob thought to himself. 

Following through with cutting the steak- his face looks at the piece on his fork as the sauce drips onto his Jacket. Standing up - eyes angered he rushes outside, the waiter, Jerry - storming out shouting towards him about the payment of the meal before looking towards the meal as three hundred dollars was placed underneath the menu.

Walking even more - just with a messy jacket now and feeling down, he heads towards the local pub - following through the doors he takes a seat in, sitting down on a stool with his back curved so his face is down to the bar, the bartender asks; 

"What'll it be?"

As the bartenders towel swipes infront of Bob's view, almost hypnotising, the white towel turns into a coaster with a glass ontop; 

"I guess you have a fan,"  The Bartender, pointing to the person who purchased the drink for him, A petite well dressed women with red leather gloves giving Bob a wave. Giving a slight chuckle as the Bartender continues wiping the bar down,

"Well, they say it's all in the moustache," Bob pauses, adjusting his jacket - getting a thin comb and dragging it through his bushy lip, "Women still think that, right? I'm sure it was moustaches," Bob stops grooming as he looks towards the bartender who's across the room, serving someone else, "Oh, i'm talking to myself, again." 

Taking his drink, he walks with a sly smile - sitting opposite to the lady in red, he leans in with his bushy eye brows and lets out a, "So, whats your favouri-" Before finishing his sentence, Bob's greasy hands slip on the polished table- spilling onto the well refined women , "Oh god, I'm so sorry - let me get that!" Bob anxiously grabs both of the serviettes and dabs on the woman's crotch.

With three sounds happening almost simultaneously, the slap, the slam of the entrance door - and the waiter holding up her receipt, "So this means your paying right?" Bob finds himself nearly five hundred dollars down - a messy Jacket and the realisation that his wife is too good for him.

Already outside, putting his wallet back into his leather pants, he takes a longer walk through the streets. Seeing people walk the streets holding hands made him puts his hands deeper into his jacket, ten minutes later - he see's the light of a payphone box - letting out a deep sigh. He steps inside slowly, putting the change in his hand, counting it slowly before throwing it in then dialling a number;

"Hey Linda."