Throwing on his jacket, Matthew sighed in agitated disappointment. He wished he could get something a little nicer than...this – his stained blazer that didn't fit, a noisy plaid shirt, his "nice sneakers", and khakis. Fucking khakis. "I look like an idiot," he told himself, staring down at the cigarette burn on one of the pant legs.

"You do," Liza chimed in.

"He wasn't talking to you," Toby spat.

"But he does," she insisted.

Matthew whined, spinning. Watching himself in the bathroom mirror made the pit in his stomach ache. "I am the ugliest, blah burrito that has ever existed."

She snorted.

Toby turned to Liza, nodding his head towards Matthew.

Clearing her throat, Liza rolled her eyes. "Well, consider yourself really lucky that you're supremely overqualified," she began, waving her hand the same way someone tries to disperse a bad smell. "Think of it this way – don't see it as you being dressed badly, which you are, but see it as, like, the first test. If they can look passed your...whatever the hell's happening with your colorblind, secondhand outfit, you're good."

He turned to her. "Why are you still here? It's after twelve."

"They're replacing the septic tank, so the water's been shut off. Bossman doesn't want everyone there when there's no water," she answered on cue. “Regardless, that won't stop me from doing work.”

"Well, I think you look...as professional as...you can be," Toby added, a lopsided, wary smile on his face. He straightened the collar of Matthew's blazer and stepped back, studying him. He fixed Matthew's collar again and stepped back. "You don't want to borrow one of my shirts? I'm fine with it. You know I am."

Matthew glanced down at his appearance. "You're a size too big. I'm not interested in looking like a floppy, ugly, blah burrito."

Liza threw her head back and laughed.

"Besides," he continued, adjusting the collar of his noisy shirt, "maybe trying to showcase the same amount of desperation written in the original ad will put me at an advantage, too."

Liza cackled.

"Good job, Matt. An angel just died."

She stopped to stare, her lips drawn into a flat line of disappointment. "Oh, don't count yourself short, Toby. Your morning breath's what killed the dinosaurs."

Matthew sighed, regretting having opened his mouth.

Toby rolled his eyes and turned back to Matthew. "Honest, I'm fine with it. Go get, like, one of my blue shirts."

"No, you're okay," Matthew insisted. "Honestly, I think I'm going to leave the blazer in the car. It's, probably, the worst thing about this whole outfit, anyway."

"Well, you'll be fine," Toby whispered, smiling. "Do you know who you're interviewing with?"

Matthew shook his head. He withdrew his phone from his pocket. "I got the email from Mrs. Weiss, but I don't think she's the one with kids, considering this is 'Desperate Dad's ad." Eyes scouring through the advertisement again, Matthew sighed with pursed lips. "It doesn't say."

"Maybe if they're desperate enough, they'll hire you," Toby encouraged.

He stepped back, eyes wide. "Excuse me?"

Even Liza turned to stare. "Wow. That was peak-me sass."

Toby glared back at her. "I hate you so fucking much."

She tsked and winked back at him. "Feeling's mutual."

Betrayed by himself, Toby turned away and stared out the window. "You'll be great," he continued despite not looking at Matthew. "You've got nothing to worry about, okay?"

"Are you serious?" Liza butted in, turning around again. "Don't coddle him. Do the fist-pounding shit your gender's supposed to be useful for." Sliding out of the chair, she marched towards Matthew and grabbed him. "Listen to me. You're going to get this job. And if you don't, you're going to owe me again for the next thirty-four months for groceries and rent." She smiled and patted his shoulders. "Good talk."

"Wow. Encouraging. You should be a therapist," Toby whispered, deadpan.

"Ugh, God, can you imagine? Me, a therapist?" she asked.

"It would require you to feel something," he muttered, making Matthew snicker under his breath.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said you'd be bad at it," he enunciated.

Liza side-eyed him before nodding. "Mmmhm."

Matthew bit the inside of his cheek, trying hard not to smirk. "I should go," he whispered, swooping passed Liza to grab his folder. "I'm..." Holding the plastic out like a spear, he announced, "I'm ready to be rejected again."

"That's the spirit!" Liza cheered.

“No. No. You're going to get this job,” Toby said.

Staring, Matthew said nothing.

Toby sighed. "You'll be great. Taking Lloyd?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I, uh, I have the route already planned out –"

"Uh, the fuck you are." She turned, glaring with surprised astonishment at her roommate. "You cannot, in good conscience, drive that 1930's Nazi deathtrap to a job interview."

"He's a '66 Bug, Liza."

"And that makes the difference? What happens if the motor conks out?" She stared, lips pursed. "Because I'm not coming to pick your sorry-ass up again on the highway."

Matthew stared back, brows furrowed and mouth agape. "I have paperclips and some other stu – waitwaitwait, we've been over how the engine – oh my God." He took in a quick breath to recollect himself. "Okay, I'm going to go, before you distract me even more than you already have." He turned towards the door.

Toby raised his hand. "You'll be great."

He nodded, high-fiving him out of obligation. "Thanks."

"Go get that job," Liza bellowed, back to him.

Swallowing, Matthew turned and left the apartment despite the growing nerves in his stomach.