The Billionaire's Hair

O3: Garden Musicians and Basement Inhabitants

Real men never make two trips to get the groceries. 

This commandment was the sole reason why there was a haggard billionaire struggling to walk the stained marble stairs of his 5 storey mansion.  With his Louis Vitto Manhattan Richelieu men's shoes dragging against the marble, he once again attempts to hoist the 50 pound bag of groceries up the stupid fucking piece of shit expensive ass flight of stairs. He could feel his lungs straining and his arms were about to snap off.

"Snickles," he mutters under his breathe as he takes another agonizing step towards his house when he misses a step and feels himself plummet towards impending doom and decides to accept his irreparable fate. But the pain never comes. For a pair of warm, muscular arms have saved him. Ernest looks up at his savior. 

The father of the garden band smiles  down at him. 

"Careful there, Mr. Billionaire. Don't want you croaking on us this soon," he says as he helps Ernest back to his feet and shares the load of his groceries. 

"Thank you, young lad." Ernest replies although his male ego is writhing in pain, he respects the jovialness of the younger generation, always eager to help. "Who are you though?"

"I guess you'll find out soon enough," he winks and turns to leave when he pauses, "My name's Leroy Pine btw." he jogs to Ernest's garden where another odd pair of young-ish adults sat on garbage bins, one with a cardboard guitar and another sat with a triangle who sang obnoxiously high notes. Another was on the ground. Flopping. 

Ernest is puzzled but decides not to question it before entering his gold encrusted door by swiping his platinum entry card (and iris scan). 

He's barely entered his house when a flying pan is thrown at him, which he barely misses. There's loud voices coming from the kitchen, with several utensils being weaponized in the process. Ernest walks to the kitchen where he finds Chad cowering behind the counter while his wife threw several citrus fruits at him. 

"Hey! Those are the last of our oranges!" Ernest reprimands before realizing he just brought more than 420 hamburgers weight in oranges. "Actually never mind, I've got more in here."

 Karen pauses, a look of horror gracing her botox-laced features. "W-why are you home so soon?" she stammers out. Chad picks up and bites into one of the oranges strewn on the floor, nonchalantly.

Ernest fixes with a look filled with disgust and terror before unpacking the groceries that a young adult man had so kindly helped him with. Karen watched him, dumbfounded. "Aren't you going to ask me who that is?" she gestures in the direction of Chad, who is currently on his way to consuming all the oranges discarded on the floor.

"Does he pee on the floor?" Ernest questions while stocking the fridge with orange juice. "No?" Karen replies at the same time in which Chad responds "Maybe."

"Well, as long as he can pay for his groceries and maybe not eat oranges that disgustingly," Ernest says absentmindedly while making an orange sandwich. He picks a few seeds out of the pulp before sprinkling some Parmesan cheese onto it, and finally takes a huge bite out of it. "he can stay."