Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Thanks For The Memories
Thanks For The Memories
0 reviewsPete knew that it wasn't a good idea to drink in public. Still, that's exactly what he did. And to every action there is a consequence.
0Unrated
Pete knew that it was a bad idea.
He wasn't stupid. Of course he knew that it wasn't legal to drink and get wasted in public.
Still, that's exactly what he did.
It was afternoon in the park. Families were having fun, joggers were panting and Pete... Well, Pete was marching his way towards an old park bench which he placed his bottom on.
He looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one saw him as he hauled a bottle out of a small brown paper bag which he carried with him.
Booze. Tasty, trustworthy booze.
He needed it to drown the ticking anxiety in his body. Just as much as a vampire needed blood, Pete needed booze.
He opened it with a sigh, put his lips against the opening and tilted the bottle to get its contents to escape its cage.
Pete took a big gulp. Then a second one. Then a third one. And then, you guessed it right, a fourth one.
It continued just like that until Pete's mind was so blurry that he couldn't think straight. Suddenly he felt the need to stumble around in the park, occasionally offering people to taste the alcohol that he had in his hand.
Mother's moved their children away from the drunken man, whispering words like "Oh my gosh" as they escaped the scene.
Pete didn't like that. He wanted company.
It hurt that people avoided him.
"Don't go!" he screamed after them before he decided that they were all bastards. That was when the wasted bassist got rude.
He ran around, as fast as he possibly could in his condition, and gave everyone the middle-finger.
That only lead to him being more alone. Men, mostly fathers, snapped at him and cursed under their breaths.
Who was that freak to ruin their nice day in the park?
"Don't run away! I'm famous," Pete spluttered moodily. The looks given to the drunk man were all sad. They pitied him. They thought he was a sad excuse for a human being.
Soon two cops came. Someone had called them to pick the crazy man up. They cuffed and took Pete away to a drunk cell.
It was when Pete sat in the backseat of the police car that it finally hit him. He had screwed up.
He covered his face with his large hands. Refusing to look at the park. The sun. The happiness.
It had been an awful day for Pete Wentz, but the consequences of his drinking would lead to days even more horrible than that.
He wasn't stupid. Of course he knew that it wasn't legal to drink and get wasted in public.
Still, that's exactly what he did.
It was afternoon in the park. Families were having fun, joggers were panting and Pete... Well, Pete was marching his way towards an old park bench which he placed his bottom on.
He looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one saw him as he hauled a bottle out of a small brown paper bag which he carried with him.
Booze. Tasty, trustworthy booze.
He needed it to drown the ticking anxiety in his body. Just as much as a vampire needed blood, Pete needed booze.
He opened it with a sigh, put his lips against the opening and tilted the bottle to get its contents to escape its cage.
Pete took a big gulp. Then a second one. Then a third one. And then, you guessed it right, a fourth one.
It continued just like that until Pete's mind was so blurry that he couldn't think straight. Suddenly he felt the need to stumble around in the park, occasionally offering people to taste the alcohol that he had in his hand.
Mother's moved their children away from the drunken man, whispering words like "Oh my gosh" as they escaped the scene.
Pete didn't like that. He wanted company.
It hurt that people avoided him.
"Don't go!" he screamed after them before he decided that they were all bastards. That was when the wasted bassist got rude.
He ran around, as fast as he possibly could in his condition, and gave everyone the middle-finger.
That only lead to him being more alone. Men, mostly fathers, snapped at him and cursed under their breaths.
Who was that freak to ruin their nice day in the park?
"Don't run away! I'm famous," Pete spluttered moodily. The looks given to the drunk man were all sad. They pitied him. They thought he was a sad excuse for a human being.
Soon two cops came. Someone had called them to pick the crazy man up. They cuffed and took Pete away to a drunk cell.
It was when Pete sat in the backseat of the police car that it finally hit him. He had screwed up.
He covered his face with his large hands. Refusing to look at the park. The sun. The happiness.
It had been an awful day for Pete Wentz, but the consequences of his drinking would lead to days even more horrible than that.
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