Ally had been watching you solidly for a consecutive 10 minutes. He was almost impressed by your laser focus with staring down into your whisky like it'd murdered your family in front of you. Only mildly distracted, he had been rubbing the same glass down with a less than sanitary rag for the last 10 minutes as well. He'd never much liked the smoky candlelit atmosphere of the place, but he had to make a living somehow, and unfortunately, this was the only place hiring. But it was always good fun people watching for a good hour or two. He's found out that the majority of the regular customers here are chronic oversharers, which is exactly why you're interesting, having not uttered a word to him since you got here. Not a whisper. He knew why you were upset, of course. He knew that your wife had decided to pack her bags a couple weeks ago. He knew that your son was having a phase of being a dick. And he knew you were struggling being a single father. He couldn't help but wonder if you'd be willing to tell him why your life disintegrated in the first place. He's always happy to pry.

He slid over another shot glass of whisky, watching as you downed the amber liquid in one, wincing to himself. You were certainly one hell of an upset man. The almost aggressive violin music warbling away in the background most likely didn't help, to be frank, but the bosses like it. And Ally does not have enough influence to cut out the violin obsession the higher-ups have. Unfortunately for everyone's ears. He absentmindedly shook up a drink for some pompous man dressed like a modern-day Napoleon, the ice clinking around in the man's glass, floating in the newly poured alcohol as the guy walked off into the crowd. And still, you sat there, surrounded by a small army of empty glasses, sad slivers of melted ice skidding around in the bottoms. He sighed, handing you yet another glass, arranging his face into a look of sympathy.

"Hey, there, bud...You good?"

Of course you weren't.