About “DTF St. Louis” in a few words:

DTF St. Louis is a dark comedy series about friendship, temptation, and the kind of bad decisions that start small and spiral way out of control. The story follows a group of middle-aged adults stuck in comfortable but painfully dull lives. When a hookup app promising “excitement without consequences” enters the picture, things quickly get complicated. Affairs, secrets, and bruised egos pile up until the whole situation turns into something far darker — including a suspicious death.

Meet the characters from DTF St. Louis

Clark

Clark is the kind of person who sneaks into a scene and somehow becomes the point of gravity without even trying—quiet, sharp, a little wired. He oscillates between being annoyingly practical and suddenly wildly impulsive (like, one minute budgeting, next minute buying a kayak at 2 a.m.). There’s a softness under the edge though—he remembers song lyrics no one asked him to and he always shows up when it matters. He wears an old watch that may or may not be broken and insists he hates coffee but will steal your espresso without flinching. In the crew he’s the low-key leader: steady until he isn’t, which is the fun part.

Floyd

Floyd looks like he should be grumpy (and often is), but he’s secretly the sentimental one who keeps a shoebox of theater tickets and bad Polaroids. He’s a fixer—literal tools, metaphorical repairs—and knows every weird street in the city like the back of his hand. He’ll complain loudly about noise and then take in a stray cat on a Tuesday, and yes he sings off-key in the car like it’s a ritual. He collects old lighters and terrible puns, which somehow makes total sense if you know him for five minutes. Basically, he’s the crusty heart of the group: rough edges, soft center, and somehow indispensable.

Carol

Carol is pure fire with a planner and lipstick, the person who organizes chaos into something actually functional and slightly intimidating. She can map out a five-year plan over coffee (her coffee is always perfect, by the way), but also has this ridiculous hobby of making tiny clay food sculptures at 3 a.m.—no one knows why. She’s fierce and fiercely loyal; she’ll roast you, then bring soup when you’re sick, and definitely sent you a passive-aggressive spreadsheet once (adorable, terrifying). Sometimes she acts like she doesn’t need anyone but then cries at commercials and blames pollen. Role-wise she’s the strategist and the big sister rolled into one: efficient, emotionally complicated, and impossible not to admire.

Homer

Homer is the warm, booming presence who eats like he’s auditioning for a food documentary and tells dad jokes with unshakable pride. He manages to be both clumsy—spilling things, knocking over a plant—and obsessively neat about his little rituals, like color-coded sticky notes for taco nights (don’t ask). He drops weirdly good life advice at 1 a.m. while fixing a sandwich, and sometimes surprises people by quoting poetry or admitting he’s been rereading a silly fantasy book. He is equal parts comfort food and weird philosophy, the sort of person you want at every gathering because you always leave laughing or thinking (or both).