The scene opens in the Tonga Room in San Francisco. The Tonga Room is a strange little hotel bar that happens to be a fixture within the city of San Francisco. The camera pans through the Fairmont Hotel, a four-star hotel on a very steep hill. The camera man tries to hold back some heavy breathing as he strides through the beige hallway. He darts left and right, the sharp corners testing his coordination, the decorative plants providing unexpected hurdles. The full moon above shines through the window near the entrance to the Tonga Room, shining a light through the empty set of tourists in Hawaiian shirts and over-burdened button-downs.

The doors to the Tonga Room stand wide open, and the camera quickly rolls through the entrance. Inside, it's hard to miss the "river" sitting between two sides of what looks like a ship. The water glows a sort of radioactive tinge of turquoise, sloshing underneath a stage posing as a boat for Hawaiian-shirt-clad performers. The sides of the "ship" are lined with large chains, blocking the drunk hotel patrons from rolling off of their chairs and into the "sea."

The camera moves to the left, and inside, at a table with a stranger, Tony Santos can be found. Tony is slumped over in his seat, an orange Ballast Point Sculpin IPA splashing in and out of the glass in his barely-contained grasp. Tony stares towards the water, his left eye slightly less swollen than the night before, but his gaze just as glassy. His hair is parted in the middle, falling over his ears. He's wearing a wrinkled black hoodie and dark blue jeans.

Across from him sits a short woman, roughly 5'4". She has short, black hair, a gray hoodie, and white jeans. She stares straight ahead at Tony, a disapproving look across her face.

Tony, sit up. What's wrong with you?

Tony grumbles under his breath, his beer tipping slightly forward with the quick inflation and deflation of his stomach. Tony peers up at this woman, mutters something unintelligible, and slouches further down.

Tony, sit up!

Tony grumbles again.

Tony! Get the hell up or I'm leaving this place right now, and the check is on you!

Tony lets out a slightly louder grumble, spittle peeking down the right side of his mouth. His body lifts itself upwards, an involuntary swig from the glass following.

Santos: Alright, alright, I'm sorry. What are we listening to again? Copacabana?

The woman frowns, her red lipstick cracking as her face contorts in disapproval. Not disapproval over a song misidentification, but over a night filled with apathy from her date.

No, Tony, the band stopped playing music an hour ago.

Tony had been practically comatose since that last song... The last song wasn't Copacabana by Barry Manilow.

Santos: Right, right. Sorry. It's been a rough week.

Tony had spent the past week on pain pills. He'd taken a hard forearm to the face in the past Warfare, and the flight back from New Zealand hadn't helped with recovery. Excessive booze, a lack of sleep, and a couple packs of cigarettes per day didn't help his body mend itself. Instead, he found himself on an online date with a woman well out of his league, at a tiki bar he'd taken not more than three minutes to research. His date just happened to be at the end of her rope after three hours with a man who barely talked in the Uber, barely passed her the menu, and had practically fallen asleep at "dinner." However, she somehow managed to stick through it.

See, Tony may not be the best after a few beers, but he could be quite charming, especially online, and especially while sober. Tony had written this woman... her name just as conspicuously nondescript and white as his past partner, Shannon... her name was Jenny, a few witty sentences based on her interests in her profile.

She liked Seinfeld! He hated Seinfeld, but man, he knew of the Soup Nazi...

She loved slow jazz over a glass of red wine. He loved EDM and hard rock over ten beers... but he knew how to talk B.B. King and his forays through the Treme of New Orleans.

She loved video games... and he actually loved them too!

Tony could be enjoyable, it just took a screen to gloss over his... flaws.

And now here he was, in his natural, drunken state. And here Jenny was, as kind and enjoyable as she'd seemed over her OkCupid profile, and just as patient as any first date would ever be expected to be. Her pale skin shined, even in the dim lights above. Her hair flowed like a waterfall over her tiny ears. Jenny was everything Tony didn't deserve, and the fact that she was still here was a testament to the luck that was always running out for, but never depleted from, good ol' Tony.

Jenny's eyes pierce through the gap in Tony's teeth.

Jenny: What's your deal, anyway? We've been out for hours and I barely know a thing about you. Jeez, I hardly even know your name. What's going on? Are you ill?

Tony slowly comes to, slowly shifting side to side to lift himself up on his chair. He plops his beer on the table, the glass almost tipping over before he catches it instinctively.

Santos: Sorry. I owe you more than what you've seen. What do you want to know?

Jenny: Where are you from? Why are you here? What do you do for work? What's your story?

Tony comes to, then leans forward in his chair. The chair creaks as an uneven front leg forces the chair to tilt towards Jenny. The chair had done the work Tony was unwilling to do... bring Tony closer to the date he had been avoiding all night.

A vein in Tony's swollen eye socket pulsates as he lets out a loud exhale.

Santos: I'm... a, well, wrestler.

Jenny looks skeptically, then tilts her head sideways in confusion.

Jenny: Oh, like a college wrestler? I thought you were in your 30s?

Santos: Yeah, not that kind of wrestler. I'm a... professional... wrestler. You know, like the kind that do bodyslams and flips?

Jenny's head tilt doesn't falter. She simply manages to tilt the other way, then cracks a smile. She starts laughing.

Tony pounds his hand on the table.

Santos: Don't you FUCKING laugh about that! This is NOT a joke!

The Tonga Room comes to standstill, the entire room having heard the thud from Tony's fist, as well as the air leaving the lungs of his date. Jenny's smile vanishes, her eyebrows lurching upward. Her muscles tighten, her arms stiff, her hands in a defensive posture. Jenny gives a "pump the brakes" motion, considers saying something to Tony, then pauses.

Tony exhales, his body dropping, the sudden anger he's so prone to seemingly escaping his body.

Santos: I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's been a tough few years. My profession is shit, if you even want to call it that. Hell, I haven't even wrestled in years, until a week ago. In truth, I've been out of work for a while. I'm just kind of figuring out where I'm going, and how to pick myself up.

Tony slowly brings his left hand to his eye, his index finger pulsating as he focuses on his sore eye.

Santos: See this? Did you wonder why I get this beat up the way it looks right now? I was wrestling in New Zealand. Remember Christchurch? The spot where that guy shot up a couple of mosques and streamed his killings on Facebook? Yup, that's where I was. They were dying while I was fighting a carnival show between two ropes. All for shit pay that didn't even cover my airfare or... hotel...

...okay, I stayed in a damn field. It didn't even cover my stay in a damn field.

So, here I am. You seem cool. You seem sane. So why are you with me? I likely will get my card rejected in paying for our bill tonight. This is what I do. Fight another few matches, quit on the job, and move on to the next failed endeavor, with more scars to show for it.

You should probably just leave.

A man in Fairmont Hotel garb stands beside Tony, lightly pressing his arm against Tony's. It takes Tony a minute or two, but he realizes he's being kicked out for his loud antics. Tony initially resists, elbowing the man in the forearm, but after he realizes he's not going to let up, Tony takes a final, long, swig of beer and makes his way to the exit. As he's being escorted past a few fake palm trees, he digs through his back pocket, but unearthes no wallet, let alone any money. He starts to mouth "I'm sorry," when he realizes his date isn't there.

All of a sudden, Jenny's small but quick 5'4" frame is right by his side as she slips the guard three $20 bills. She smiles at Tony, then stops him and the guard. She pulls out a $2 bill, a Sharpie, and scribbles something over Thomas Jefferson's face. She smiles as she places the open bill in Tony's shirt. Jenny quickly skips out of the Tonga room as Tony looks at his neckline. His eye can barely see out of its direct side, but he can see the numbers on the bill...

867-5309

Tony smiles a gap-toothed smile, knowing he's been played, as the scene fades to black.

September 2013 and May 2019 Star of the Month
1x Hart Champion
1x Television Champion
1x Xtreme Champion