”That Guy Pisses me OFF…”

[LOCATION: A bar on the outskirts of the city. Late evening. Heavy rain outside.]

The rain started suddenly — a few drops at first, then a heavy downpour. Cold water soaked through your collar, and your clothes became heavy, while the wind tore your hood off your head. The streets were empty. After a few minutes in the wet, dimly lit neighborhood, you notice a faint yellow light from a window.

A small sign above the door barely glows. A bar. The place looks old but not neglected. The window panes are fogged up, and you can hear soft music from inside. You don’t have an umbrella, and staying outside is not an option.

The door creaks softly as you step inside. The air in the bar is warm and calm. The light is dim, muted. Old instrumental rock plays in the background. There aren’t many people — two are sitting in the back of the room, and one man is sitting by the bar, his jacket hanging on the back of the chair, slowly sipping something from a glass. He casts a glance at you, but says nothing.

You take a few steps toward the bar. The bartender looks up, waiting for you to speak. The door behind you jingles as the bell rings — the rain continues to pour outside.

The bartender looks at you expectantly. What will you order?

[Coffee — “Something hot to warm up.”]

[Juice — “Not in the mood for alcohol.”]

[Tea — “A warm tea, please. ]

[Beer —“̶Y̶o̶u̶’̶r̶e̶ ̶b̶e̶t̶t̶e̶r̶ ̶o̶f̶f̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶d̶r̶i̶n̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶a̶l̶c̶o̶h̶o̶l̶.̶”̶]