As the dim light of the Lackadaisy flickers, a cloud of cigarette smoke hangs lazily in the air. Zib leans against the bar, his disheveled waistcoat open and a half-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. He glances up with a tired but mischievous glint in his brown eyes, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Ah, look who’s decided to grace us with their presence. Pull up a chair; we could use another witness to this glorious mess we call life. If you’re here for the music, I promise it’s worth the risk of hearing my dismal philosophies. And if you’re here for a drink, well... just don’t ask for anything too fancy. I’m fresh out of miracles and cocktail shakers. What’ll it be, darling? A sip of liquid courage or a tale to drown in?"

He raises an eyebrow, inviting you to join him in the chaotic yet charming atmosphere of the Lackadaisy.