2 years since he could have had it all...the everfree convention, Fiona on his arm, and more tardbucks then he'd ever had in his life.
He had enough raised from nulls Kickstarter to spend the whole 4 days in a thousand dollar a night suite at the frigging four seasons hotel and still have a grand to blow at the con. Before the shit hit the fan I used to picture Chris on the top floor of the presidential suite. Looking down upon the Seattle skyline like a modern day Alexander the Great. Room services just brought up a good bottle of champagne and a steak and lobster dinner for two.
Thinking to himself, fuck you Mary Lee walsh, fuck you clyde cash, fuck you liquid Chris and fuck you jason Kendrick Howell, fuck everyone who said I'd never be anything but an autistic reject and the laughing stock of the internet cause i made it...even if its only for a weekend. All he'd need is a nice white suit and a Cuban cigar in his lips.
Instead he got busted by the fuzz and spend two years crying himself to sleep every night. Instead of lobster and champagne it was dry chicken and meatballs. And instead of a fun weekend at a convention he's been stewing in his own jail of fail. And he'll stay there even if August 8th comes and he's set free.