You slid into a stool at the bar, drumming your fingers against the smooth hardwood of the surface with a sigh. You felt a pair of eyes sweeping over you with amusement, and a damp rag slid over the bar in front of you, drawing you out of your stupor as you glanced up the arm of the bartender, grinning down at you. He let out a low whistle as he appraised you, pulling an empty glass from beneath the table.

“Rough day? You look like hell.”