Setting: A chilly Friday night in SeaTTTle, rain slicking the neon-drenched streets. Boom, fresh off a turbulent flight from Omaha, careens through Sea-Tac in his twitching wheelchair like a caffeinated squirrel in a shopping cart, knocking over a poorly placed recycling bin, scattering empty oat milk cartons everywhere. Clutched firmly in one hand is a worn, splintered baseball bat—a notorious prop from countless XO posts, which Boom insists on bringing everywhere “for safety.” Disco Fries, crammed into a Spirit Airlines seat that reclines forward, trapping his oversized belly between the tray table and his knees, deplanes cursing the airline. Evan39, the group's long-suffering elder, waits patiently by his Subaru, observing the chaos with the weary resignation of a parent at a Chuck E. Cheese. Mainlining, like his hero Prince Oberyn from Game of Thrones, may not be the tallest, but he is a "twink" with a head full of luscious hair, physically able and fit, and struts up to the group with the confidence of a man half his age, texting furiously and plotting the night's debauchery with the glee of a teenager who just discovered his dad's hidden stash of porn.

Scene 1: The Rendezvous

Mainlining arrives at the rendezvous point, a dimly lit corner near the airport, sporting his signature Cotopaxi jacket and a grin that could rival the Joker's. "Alright, boys, we're hitting SeaTTTle's nightlife! I've got a few places in mind," he announces, his voice buzzing with barely contained excitement.

Evan39, gazing a little too long at Mainlining’s flowing locks, catches himself and quickly raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Do we really need to go through this? The last time we tried a 'night out,' Boom ended up in a McDonald's drive-thru screaming about 'age-flamers.'"

Disco Fries, panting slightly from the effort of crossing the street, nods in agreement. "And I had to convince the staff not to call the cops... twice," he adds, wiping his brow with a napkin he "borrowed" from the plane.

Boom, gripping his baseball bat like it’s an extension of his arm, grins manically. "FL4M3R$! All of them! This time, though, I'm READY." His eyes dart around as if he's planning a tactical assault on the unsuspecting streets of SeaTTTle. "We gotta find the real night$cene. None of thi$ lib bullshit. And hey, maybe tonight's the night someone hits me with a bat on live TV. I’ve been waiting for it my whole life!"

Mainlining smirks, egging Boom on. "Relax, Boom. I've got the perfect spot. It’s called ‘The Outlander.’ Hip bar, good vibes, and close enough to Pioneer Square that we might see some of those notorious SeaTTTle street characters. It'll be fun!"

Evan39 sighs, unable to resist Mainlining’s infectious energy—or maybe just the way his hair catches the streetlights. "Fine. But if we end up on the news again, I'm out."

Scene 2: Entering ‘The Outlander’

They arrive at The Outlander, Boom leading the charge, his baseball bat now strapped across his lap like a warrior’s sword as he maneuvers his wheelchair like it’s a chariot on the cobblestone streets. Disco Fries lumbers behind, struggling to keep up while adjusting his jacket over his massive frame. Evan39 brings up the rear, muttering under his breath about how everyone should have just stayed in and ordered takeout, but his eyes occasionally dart back to Mainlining, perhaps a little too often.

Inside, the bar is a dimly lit maze of mismatched furniture and exposed brick. A DJ in the corner is playing some kind of indie synthwave that sounds like the music you hear in a nightmare. The crowd is a mix of hipsters, tech bros, and a few older patrons who seem equally confused by their surroundings.

Boom, eyes wide, shouts, "I’m gonna get me a mojito, extra rum! Let’s see if they can handle THAT." He wheels himself aggressively toward the bar, nearly taking out a group of tech interns in Patagonia vests who scatter like startled pigeons.

Mainlining, ever the provocateur, smirks and follows, looking every bit like a man about to start trouble. "Alright, boys, drinks on me!" he yells, pulling out a credit card with a grin. "What’s everyone having?"

Disco Fries, attempting to wedge himself between two barstools, considers for a moment. "I’ll take a triple cheeseburger... I mean, a triple whiskey."

Evan39, half-distracted by Mainlining's playful demeanor, shakes his head with a weary chuckle. "Just water for me. I’ve had enough of these shenanigans." He knows better than to dive headfirst into whatever this night holds.

Scene 3: Chaos Ensues

The group grabs their drinks and heads to the back of the bar. Things start off relatively calm—just a few glares from the younger patrons who clearly don’t appreciate Boom's loud insistence that “all these millennials need to just jump.”

Then, as if on cue, chaos breaks out. A homeless man bursts into the bar, wearing a tattered Seahawks jersey, screaming, "I AM THE KING OF SEATTLE!" He brandishes a half-eaten hotdog like it’s Excalibur.

Boom, never one to back down, tightens his grip on the baseball bat and wheels toward him. "King? King of what, exactly? The Dumpster Divers? I’ll be the judge of that!" he shouts, lifting the bat as if he's ready to swing. "And if you’ve got a TV crew nearby, I’m ready for my moment."

Disco Fries, suddenly inspired by the spectacle, stands up and yells, "Fight! Fight! Fight!" causing several patrons to back away cautiously. "I got 20 on Boom!"

Mainlining, sensing an opportunity to stir things up, steps between Boom and the homeless "king." "Okay, okay, let's settle this with a Dance Party," he declares, pulling out his phone to cue up some music.

The homeless man, after a moment of stunned silence, eyes Mainlining suspiciously. "A dance-off? You think you can out-groove the King? Fine. But I warn you, I've got moves that'll make your head spin."

He starts an impromptu dance routine that looks like a cross between breakdancing and an epileptic seizure, drawing both admiration and horror from the crowd. Boom, undeterred, starts spinning his wheelchair in a series of increasingly erratic circles, still clutching his bat while yelling, "$eaTTTle, you're MY kingdom now!"

Evan39, realizing this is going nowhere good, tries to break it up. "Alright, alright, this is getting out of hand. Mainlining, can you please get Boom before we all get thrown out?"

Mainlining smirks, "You know, Evan, if you had my moves, you’d have a better shot with the younger crowd... or me," he teases with a wink.

Evan39 flushes, muttering under his breath, "As if I need more drama in my life. Between Safeway and SeaTTTle’s filth, this is enough."

Scene 4: The Aftermath

Eventually, the bar manager, an exasperated-looking woman with a clipboard, intervenes. "Gentlemen, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. You’re disrupting the vibe."

Boom, wheeling himself out with a demented grin, still gripping the bat, yells over his shoulder, “You haven’t seen the la$t of me, $eaTTTle! And if any of you have a camera, I'm still game for that bat hit!"

Disco Fries, ever the optimist, pats him on the back. "Great job, Boom. I knew you'd win."

Mainlining, always ready to keep the night going, pulls out his phone. "Hey, guys, I heard there's an underground club that’s open till 4 AM. We can still salvage this night."

Evan39 sighs deeply, rubbing his temples. "No, absolutely not. I'm done." But even as he says it, there's a small, resigned smile on his face. After all, this is exactly what he expected.

As they head out, they pass a group of tech workers sharing a joint in front of a tent encampment. One of them looks up and mutters, "Damn, the city's really gone downhill."

Boom cackles maniacally, waving his bat in the air. "You’re not wrong, kid. But we're gonna have our fun anyway."

As they walk away, the three of them—Boom, Mainlining, and Evan39—share a knowing look, an unspoken understanding that, perhaps, they are not entirely separate beings. They move as one through the neon-lit SeaTTTle night.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5593960&forum_id=2#48083381)