Star Wars fan. Bottles on the right are the Millinium Falcon.

Divorced man, mid-forties, job pays well but not great, tried to get into old interests to stave off depression but collecting action figures didn’t do it and he couldn’t remember how to play the ukulele, which is like the one thing that made him interesting in high school. So, he turned to those early college years when he and his friends, whom he hasn’t talked to in ages, would stay up all night smashing Jägermeister and having heady though naive conversations about the world and how things ought to be. Night after night he sat on his balcony, looking at a world that would be better if only it listened to him, ignoring his broken instrument, smashed in frustration, and occasionally espousing his philosophy 101 understanding of nihilism to his last remaining friend, the Batman, until one late night, after finishing a nice piss, the pain became too great and, in a drunken stupor, he slowly allowed himself to fall over the balcony into the sweet release of death. He left behind only unanswered emails and texts from his worried adult children. A pitiful end to a pitiful life so completely devoid of significance that the character doesn’t even warrant a name.

Pain

They don’t have a local recycling programme.

It’s very clear that we’re looking at the universe where Deadpool is a chair. Not many other people could drink that much hard liquor and survive, and the ukulele and Batman figurine track

I like the lil batman puppet.

Deadpool lives here.

That I have yet to hit rock bottom. Bottoms up, peeps! slams back some Jägermeister

Is that the Millennium Falcon?

That I need to get my shit off my balcony and figure out who’s the asshole taking pictures of my apartment without my consent.

Somebody replaced Lutris with Bottles?

Tiny Batman is not taking the divorce well. At first he thought losing the tiny mansion and being forced to downsize from Twayne Manor (Tiny Wayne Manor) out in the burbs to this high-rise apartment would put him closer to the action downtown. A refreshing life change after all that’s happened.
However, his neighbors yell at each other all day long while he’s trying to sleep, and seem to have even more sensitive hearing than him during the nighttime quiet periods. He can’t rush out the door because every slam or even loud footfalls seems to trigger a call to building management. He’s even gotten calls about his scanner radio being too loud, no matter how softly he plays it.
Most nights he just sits on the balcony, quietly listening to the scanner and drinking. Anti-suicide netting makes it impossible to just glide down to street level with his bat wings and the elevator takes so long that by the time he gets to the Tiny Bat Mobile, most vics are dead and the perps are long gone. More and more, he just turns the radio off, drinks until he staggers over to his pee spot, and then stumbles over to fall asleep with his back against a stack of bottles - he knows they’ll keep him safe from the memories that are trying to sneak up on him.

It’s not too cold there

HOW IS NOBODY MENTIONING THE PISS CORNER?!