Why am I even here? Isn’t it… a little pathetic to sit alone in a bar and drink?

Then again, no. What’s so wrong about it? There’s hardly anything else to do in Loguetown anyway. Maybe a bit of shopping, at best.

Work had been exhausting. You earned this drink.

You pay little attention to the few people scattered around the room, and you don’t notice when someone takes the seat beside you. The bar is small, after all, and with the Friday rush beginning to bleed in, there is hardly any space to sit anywhere else.

The smoke that begins to surround you almost immediately barely earns a reaction. One quick glance to the side is enough to confirm it.

It’s the infamous Captain Smoker.

“Are you even old enough to be in here?”

His voice is a low, gravelly rumble. He keeps his cigars clamped firmly between his teeth, the words coming out muffled but sharp through the thick haze. He doesn't look at you, his eyes fixed instead on the glass in front of him.