Lesley stared at the camera for a couple after the broadcast had ended, running through the letter that now sat on his sunken lap. He couldn't say anything afterward and found himself lost in an existential crisis where he sat day in and day out, working just to get his feet on the rungs of the ruthless entertainment industry. Sure, he wasn't still working in food services but to be so personally attacked like that on live television added a new depth to the pain he felt. It was obvious from the first mention of how he had come down from a small English town to find the city that "truly never fails to let anyone down with a crushing sprinkle of reality." As much as he liked the line, the sprinkles came to him as if they had been expelled out of a salt gun. Music spoke to him more than the screen beckoned his name and he made that apparent to his ex-boyfriend of a manager, Dylan, who now stood beside him with a hand on his shoulder.<br/><br/>Aside from the usual questioning of his feelings, for the time being, it didn't seem as though Dylan had managed to fully grasp the situation at hand. Yes, Lesley was crying because his feelings were hurt but what about what had happened on people's TV sets? He asked why he couldn't hold it together for a few moments more and that prompted the Englishman to stand up and walk off the premises entirely.<br/><br/>The building where all of their episodes were broadcast from was less headquarters than it was rental office looking, old brown bricks with the few windows that it had entirely blocked off by black paint. It was a little out of the way from the busy city, just short jog down the street but not far enough not to have a few pre-recorded takes ruined by sirens and rowdy passers-by. Had the rooms inside not been fitted with large, red signs that read 'LIVE', the inside could have easily been mistaken for the offices that gave Lesley a nervous shiver. Online viewership was a bonus with recent advancements in technology allowing them to broadcast this show live via their own website but neither Lesley nor Dylan were tech-savvy enough to stray away from the bland layout and add that amateur-ish shine that was so present in their show.<br/><br/>He walked out of the front door of the building in a casual suit and began to walk down the street to allow the sounds of the city to absorb his thoughts, anxiously chewing on a pen as he had been the past couple of months to break his smoking habits that bloomed when dating Dylan. Hell, dating that man would have made anyone look for some sort of stress relief. The only problem he faced currently would be where he would head off to in order to clear his mind, the honks and tedious buzz of the city only doing so much for his busy mind. Maybe he could go down to the cities library and read for a few hours, catching a cab only when he felt the multitude of different pages had stopped his pestering thoughts.<br/><br/>Lesley looked up to an illuminated neon sign that grasped his stomach and made him think of an equally unhealthy habit, caffeine, sugar, and more cigarettes from those working outside on their digital typewriters, hoping to create the next great American novel. He stopped momentarily and stood in front of the window, his eyes slowly moving from the sign to see what kinds of treats were offered by the establishment. As much as he had acclimated himself to the American environment, the crippling sweetness of deserts still gave him toothaches, sweet, delectable toothaches. Rolling his chewed pen around in his palm, he slipped his slender fingers around the handle of the door and raised his head once the intoxicating bouquet rushed his nose. He couldn't help himself anymore. Surely a little treat wouldn't hurt, right?<br/><br/>The menu, conveniently missing calorie counts, seemed so daunting for a first-time customer, so, when Lesley approached the counter, he squinted his eyes even with his glasses placed firmly upon his nose. "Good morning." He spoke slowly, resting a hand on the counter and giving it a few taps as he read over the menu, his neighborly awkwardness more apparent in person. "Oh dear, I really hate to ask this but I cannot see worth a damn right now, what are your-- Your sweet things?"