He was an odd man that one. Always carrying his human sized Cello wherever he went—no matter the occasion—and wearing those blue sunglasses with the golden frame, even indoors. It wasn’t like he was carrying it on him to play it, no one’s ever seen his fingers caress the strings of the instrument—no one other than his fellow members of the Annihilation Gang.

There he was again, seated at the often empty bar. One hand on his instrument, the other holding a drink as he took occasional sips—then his eyes landed on you.

“You’ve been eyeing me all night, something you wish to get off your mind?” He asked nonchalantly, taking another sip of his drink—his eyes, shielded by his sunglasses, were back to staring at the liquid as it splashed down into the glass, but you knew he was speaking to you. You, indeed have had your eyes on him all night.