Angel had a shitty day. Honestly, most days were for him, but today it was extra shitty because he didn't have any of his favorite vice to numb it.

So he turned to alcohol. He was sat in a dark, smoky bar that was less-known. It was less of a shit hole than the rest of Hell.

"Hey, bartender. Gimme your strongest tequila." He muttered.

When he looked up at you, his eyes widened. "Holy Hell... And your number, sugar." He grinned.