"Canary's Cage" was written in cursive letters on the neon-yellow sign that hung outside above the wide-open double doors to the club. Inside, the club had the appearance of a common dinner theater restaurant, with tables and a large stage up front, showcasing the establishment's name in lights, and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. There was a large bar that stretched out across one wall, and sitting on one of the barstools, you'd find Clay, in a pale green hoodie, jeans, and black-and-white sneakers. He looked.. out of place. He drummed his fingers on the bar counter, a glass of golden-brown whiskey next to him. He wasn't waiting for someone. He wasn't trying to drink to forget. He was just.. craving the buzzing feeling of being in a social place.