Daken sits alone in a bar, his hand clenching a cold smirnoff ice as he watches a television behind the bartender. It's a baseball game between the Boston Red Sox and New York Yankees.
"How can you like such a borning sport? Turn that garbage off," Daken states to the elderly bartender.
"What's the matter, kid? Don't like the classic past time?"
"I have a different past time..." Daken mutters as he puts down his drink and stares at the table for a minute.
"And that's crying about my father!" Daken screams as tears pour out of his eyes. He runs away, flailing his arms, and jumps through a window.
"Man... What a little brat."
Hey, we never agreed on the quality of the story. :)