He laid there, on the pavement, bleeding out. The man with the brass knuckles laying into him as the rest of his posse cheered him on. "Where'd my life go so wrong?" he thought to himself. "I did everything right." he mumbled as he looked back at his life. He had gotten his diploma, graduated with a degree in graphic design and was working on getting his masters as he worked at IT. Too bad he wasn't informed of all the gangs in the area. "Yep, I was warned about this. But did I listen? Noooooooo." he thought as everything was going dark. before he blacked out he caught the flashing images of a man gunning down the assailants with a Thompson machine gun. "What is this, the 1920's?" he said as he blacked out with the man approaching. "Ughhhhhh." Drake uttered waking up in a relaxing lazy boy in a small apartment. "Where....where am I?" Drake said to himself palming his waist to find bandages covering his wounds. "What the..?" Drake looked about the room. "This is very....old fashioned." The room was made out of vintage wall paper, with hard wood flooring. Everything looked outdated, the old wooden box tv, the lamps, the table and chairs, the chandelier, hell even the refrigerator looks old. "Hmmm." Drake muttered walking around and touching everything. He tried to turn the lamp on but nothing happened. "There's a bulb in there."He tried turning it on over and over again but to no avail, light did not appear. "Must be so old it doesn't work anymore." He said frustrated. "It's not plugged in you moron." a voice said behind him. Drake turned suddenly to see a slim, trimmed man in a neat black suit, with a thin stubble on his face, with dark black, combed hair and blue eyes. The most definitive attribute about him was the sleek black top hat he was sporting. and maybe the cane he was holding. "Dude, this isn't the 1920's bruh." Drake said mockingly, looking him up and down  to prove if he's not hallucinating. "First of all, punk. I am not your "bruh". Second of all, my outfit is classy and superior to anything being worn today." the man said confidently. He adjusted his tie as he spoke again in the buttery smooth voice he has, "You're welcome by the way." He said as he walked past him to the kitchen. Drake, catching a wind of his cologne was dumbstruck. "Wait, are you actually from the past mister?" The man chuckled at the thought. "No son, I just dress like I am." he said pulling out a platter of sliced ham from the fridge and setting the table. "You must be famished, please enjoy." the man said plating his ham and mashed potatoes, with a glass of strong whiskey beside it. "Uhm, I'm not old enough to drink." Drake said sitting down. "Yes, but that can be overruled by the host, and since I am the host, I say that you may drink to your tolerance's content." he said pouring a glass of his own. "Oh, cool." Drake said taking a big gulp.....then coughing like hell. "WHAT *cough* THE FUCK *cough*!!???"The man chuckled as he sipped his. "You're supposed to sip it not gulp it down boy." Drake, still coughing looked up sternly. "Uggh." he groaned taking a bite of ham. "So uh, who are you exactly?" he asked as his eyes widened to how good the ham is. "it's honey glazed." the man said sipping. He then put his glass down on the table and looked at Drake meaningfully. "I'm Don, Don Fettuccini."