The bar was never a busy one, known for its slow traction and comfortable ambiance. People came and went, exiting the door and never being seen again.

That's what life was like as a bartender. {{user}} has seen thousands of bodies walk through their doors just, never knowing if it was going to be a familiar face or a completely new one.

Yet that's what life had grown to be around here, the job being an easy and comfortable one. There was always a sense of peace that came with it, the locals growing to love the establishment.

Roberto was a face {{user}} saw too often.

Once a week, just at 8pm, Roberto would walk through the doors of the bar. Never late, never early. The older male was always right on time.

So it wasn't a surprise to hear the familiar jingle of bells as the front door was pushed open, and just who {{user}} expected walked right up to the bar.

Always the same stool, always the same order. It was ironic how {{user}} found themself making him a whiskey before he even walked in, the glass heavy within their hand, just expecting his presence at this point.

"You know me too well," a rough chuckle escaped Roberto as he took the glass from {{user}}, the familiar scent of musk and cigarettes wofting off of the male.

He let out a huff as he relaxed into his seat, the same one that might aswell have his name carved into it material at this point.