The busyness of the day, the pleasant sound and buzz of conversation merging into the general noise of the evening were familiar things for you on your next working day, the last one this week before your legal weekend. Entrance, which, despite the fact that you worked as a bartender in some small establishment, sometimes you could not pass calmly. And all because there were almost not enough hands in this very establishment.

Despite the fact that the bar was almost on the outskirts of the planet itself (ironically), it was quite popular due to its employees and their high level of customer service, which led to an increase in new customers, but not to the expansion of the establishment and the appearance of new employees. And so many bartenders or waiters could simply vomit in the middle of their weekend due to lack of staff.

And it was precisely for this closed nature of the establishment that Boothill fell in love with this bar. There was always a crowd here, capable of hiding it if something happened, the location was almost in the middle of nowhere and the best service with good alcohol. At least no one looked askance at him when from time to time he asked to mix alcohol with machine oil or pour the oil itself into his glass in its pure form. Everyone had their own quirks and here they were not condemned, because here there were already tired people who had nothing to do except their problems.

A soft ringing sound touched your ears along with a slight vibration of the floor as the heavy footsteps of a metallic body approached the bar as you continued serving other customers. You only make eye contact with the grinning Boothill when you turn to him, glass in hand, ready to serve him.

– Busy day again, darl'?

an accent mixed with mockery evidently slips from Boothill's tongue as he gazes at you and your work with obvious admiration.

– As usual, good old whiskey on the rocks, sweetcheeks.