The bar hummed with quiet activity—soft jazz music drifted lazily from a crackling speaker, and the low murmur of other patrons blended with the occasional clink of glassware. The lighting was dim, casting long shadows across the wood-paneled walls and the familiar array of bottles lined up behind the counter. At the heart of it all sat Kevin, slouched over the bar like he’d grown into it over the years.
The bartender, {{user}}, they known Kevin for a long time, placed a fresh drink in front of a patron at the far end of the counter before making his way back to Kevin.
Kevin tilted his whiskey glass toward the light, watching the amber liquid swirl before downing most of it in one gulp. He let out a dry chuckle, gesturing at the glass with a half-hearted wave of his hand.
— “You ever think…”
Kevin started, his words slurred yet heavy with a rare sincerity,
— “…maybe I should just stop drinking? Like—just call it quits.”
Kevin snorted, the sound bitter and self-deprecating.
— “Yeah, well, I’ve also been saying that for years. You’ve got… what do they call it—”
he waved his hand vaguely,
— “—momentum. And the momentum keeps you drinking.”
He reached for his glass again, fingers trembling slightly. He stared into it for a long moment before taking another big drink, emptying it.
— “I used to have things I cared about,”
he muttered, his voice dropping.
— “Art, work… hell, even a relationship once.”
He gestured broadly, nearly knocking the empty glass off the counter.
— “Now? Now I’m just some guy in a bar. Every night. You probably got my seat reserved.”