But tonight was not an ordinary night at the Kings Head bar, a man unusually well dressed entered through the heavy green metal door. He wore a gray suit, one that you could clearly see was not bought in this town, he was an alien to these people, people that had never worn a suit in their lives, but spent their lives on fishing boats or working as lumberjacks. The man took off his jacket and threw it in one of the booths, and loosened his black tie, he went straight to the bar, ordered a whiskey, paid in cash, and sat down.
This was a man who had lost everything, a man who had fallen flat down due to his own ignorance and neglect, he was a man stuck in total oblivion. His facial expression was hard to see through the smokey dim lights, but he held his head between his hands over the whiskey, painfully trying to suppress his memories, which one was uncertain.
Maybe the one where he left his two kids?
Maybe the one where he’d skipped his fathers funeral for a meeting?
Maybe he was trying to suppress the fact that he wasted his youth on things that he no longer bothered to care about, not even the slightest.
The green lamp above him flickers, and with a rush he finishes his drink, he is not in a hurry to get anywhere, he is in a hurry to get away, to slowly fade away from himself. He drags his unsteady hands through his well mannered hair, a nervous twitch.
He orders a second drink, a third drink, a fourth drink....
The tie is looser and is now hanging down his chest, the first three buttons are undone, and deep blue bags are starting to appear under his eyes. He fiddles with his smokes, and drops the lighter on the floor, he has had way too much to drink and slowly becoming disoriented, he is now unmistakably drowning his sorrows, all faith is lost, the man no longer seems himself as alive, and therefore do not care what happens next.
As the bartender rings the bell for last calls, he tries to stand up but fails, and falls on the red-leather seat, he slowly sits up, his thin weak body is on the edge of surrender. Fourth time’s the charm, and he is barley standing, he wobbles to the door, but walks by the bartender and takes his old, worn out hands, and stuffs them full of cash and closes his fingers around it, he tells the bartender that he is better of with it, because he himself is a dead man walking. He leans on the door so that it opens.
The bartender never laid eyes on the drunken man ever again, he never expected to either, especially considering the state of mind that he left, the bartender in all honestly never though anyone else would lay eyes on the man again, at least not alive.