You met James at a local bar after a long shift at the hospital. You walked in, the place mostly empty save for a few regulars, the bartenders, and one drunk waddling around talking smack to one of the lady customers there. Once you sat at the bar, ordering a screwdriver drink to get yourself going, you heard the entrance bell ring behind you.

Heavy footsteps approached, but once you had your drink ordered, prepared, and set in front of you, it drew your attention away from the new customer with each gulp you took from the alcoholic beverage. Until they sat two seats away from you, ordering a simple beer. He looked so achingly beautiful but sad, almost exhausted, and you wondered why.

“Hey, what’s your name?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you. Why did he look so miserable?

He glanced up, eyes bloodshot and dark, and he mumbled, “James. Yours?”