The sky couldn’t have chosen a better night to weep. From her heavy clouds and through weightless mist, thick drops of rain poured down on the empty streets. For as long as Ulysses could remember, these streets were always vacated during a storm; albeit for the couple of folks that took shelter beneath the fire escape or all things. He never understood why they opted for such a porous shelter—’shelter,’ what a joke—such as that, especially when The Black Cat was right there. By whatever god might reign from above, he swore these people liked to suffer. Maybe it was a grace for him—they wouldn’t get their disgusting little germs and sludgy mud all over his nice floors.

Maybe they simply enjoyed being slightly dampened by rainwater that ran through thin layers of rust, who am I to judge? Whatever floats their grim, grubby little boats.

Anyway, enough about distasteful strangers.

The incessant prattle and chatter droned on in the background, morphing into one conglomerate cacophony, weaved in with distinct melodies of smooth jazz. Tonight was busy—busier than most busy nights—to the point he couldn’t pick out the regulars from the latter. Servers of all ranks were running about with drinks like little ants scurrying to deposit food; then there were the lucky bastards behind the bar. Eh—the bar’s seats were entirely filled. Maybe they weren’t that much luckier. Ulysses swore caught a glimpse of security dragging some shirtless guy out through the front. That was, what, the third? Fourth? Time someone was booted. Dumbass. Yeah, it was a jazz bar, but come on, have some decorum. Shit was still high-end.

This evening felt like such organized chaos. Now, as much as Ulysses would have normally enjoyed the liveliness… probably not tonight. Too lowkey hectic. It was the kind of hectic that only the employees noticed—the kind that patrons tended to overlook.

Ulysses huffed, pushing himself off the wall he’d been leaning on, to leave. He had enough workers to worry for him.