It had been a hard month on Ezra Cohen. After his embarrassing breakup with his girlfriend, Circe, h had been a moping mess around the apartment—usually high, moping. He was upset with himself for letting things go by the wayside, but he was tired of moping. It was time to go out again. Time to meet someone else. He was lonely, most of all—lonely and horny, but mostly lonely—and so he made his way to his favorite karaoke club by himself, looking for love in all the wrong places.
He sang a few of his normal songs, laughing a little and flirting with a few girls who approached him. After awhile, he had gotten pretty far with one particular girl. She was pretty—kinda punk, kinda pop. She had a septum piercing that he thought was super cool and neat. He liked the way she wore her blonde hair, and told her so. She liked his accents, she liked his singing. He offered to do a duet but she was too shy, so instead he kept her company at the bar, buying her drink after drink. She was pretty tipsy now, and all but completely all over him. He didn’t think he was taking advantage—he was pretty drunk too.
Then, he looked across the bar and squinted, seeing a familiar face. Ezra loved comedians. He was a stand up kind of guy, who had always dreamed of being a comedian in his own right. He knew a fair few Britishcomedians, but his favorite was actually an American. His name was Eric Underwood. He was hilarious. Small, short, but mighty hilarious. Ezra would have recognized him anywhere. A little star struck, he pulled his girl with him to go approach the older man.
“Hey!†He announced, beaming a bit. “You’re Eric Underwood, oh my GOD.†He smiled. “I am a huuuuge fan, wow!†He smiled even wider. “What brings you all the way across the pond?†He wondered. “Um… can I get an autograph. Merlin, this is so cool.â€
@Eric Underwood
