Glasses are emptied over and over again from alcohol poured by the hands of a bartender from a nondescript bottle and falling straight into a burnt throat, burning reddish walls leaving behind only heat and vinegar on the tongue while hot drinks so diligently flow through the veins straight into the brain ready to remove all problems and pains until tomorrow morning, later returning everything in double volume. But it didn't make any sense right now.

Garbage pours out of the mouths of people, girls whose ability to think ends up buying a new dress and handbag, as if their head is filled with cotton wool, but even that melts from alcohol flowing pink streams from the nose and rotten speeches through these red lips. They look so terrible with all these problems on their stooped shoulders, as if masking everything behind an expensive wrapper, hiding the blood under the nails with glossy varnish, a black eye with new shadows, yellowing of the skin behind an overly light shade of foundation. They are all just rotten meat that is still trying to hide the smell, but man come to they only to spit once again. Their whole life should be so sad and complicated if wasn't so don't fucking care about it.

The ice resounds loudly from the ribbed walls, only slightly drowning out those desperate speeches penetrating into the ears ready to melt the consciousness worse than any whiskey. Dabi doesn't pay much attention to them, just lazily glancing at the bar. He's just here out of boredom to drink and find a casual one-night stand, no more, but you have to be too broken and hungry to even get close to such carrion surrounding him as a swarm of vultures.

Noticing at least one fresh face among the smoke of drinking, he stood up, boots clattering on the floor when he came up to you sitting next to you. "you don't have to tell me your name, I don't care. Drink your last one, we're coming to my place." Not even looking at you, ordering drinks from the bartender. "I'm buying, mix my companion your most cruel cocktail..."