the bar is pulsating with life, teeming with young adults in various stages of intoxication; every stool occupied, every inch of the bar covered in hands and elbows and empty shot glasses. he tosses back what’s left of the amber liquid staining his glass, long from registering the alcohol burning his throat. his mates have called it a night, exiting the bar with girls hooked under their arms and smirks lingering on their lips. he should have taken that tatted chick up on her offer and called it a night along side them. in truth he should have never hit up the bar in the first place seeing as he’s booked solid at the shop tomorrow and the lack of sleep isn’t helping his attitude any. but here he is. he leaves his discarded glass at the bar and starts to push through the throng of people. maybe that brunette is still here..