Russell Fredrickson grabbed the last box of his belongings. It was full of empty sour patch kid bags and #2 Ticonderoga Pencils. Turning off the light and locking the door behind him, he knocked on the door, just to make sure someone wasn't still in there.

Russ made his way towards the front door, but couldn't ignore the rotting smell of cigarettes and month old, unpackaged twinkies seeping from the crack underneath Carl's door. He sighed.

"Carlton, I am leaving you," he spoke clearly from behind the white doors of one shitty suburban home floating above the town.

Footsteps could be heard scrambling, like 4 baby pandas all marching to eat bamboo. The door swung open and the stench of sweaty ass cheeks grew louder than the weed he was rolling on his bedside table.

"Leave? You can't leave me!" Carl yelled after Russ who was already trying to open the front door. "Who else is going to help me play blurays on my computer? Or, or wipe my poop off the wall from when it accidentally comes out while I'm peeing?!" He was crying now, already the snot was running.

Russ shot a side glance at him. "Estos no son los droides que estás buscando." He flung the door open, and walked briskly down the stairs, never looking back.