Vince felt like a new man after coming out of prison. I mean, his hair had finally grew back into a pompadour loved by all, and not only that, he felt free. To top it all off, he could actually drink! Not the slop that the warden had made him drink, no, actual, mouth-watering liquor that he could use to was away all his problems.

Upon entering the first club he saw, he spotted you. He strutted up to you, taking a seat at the bar stool next to you. You occasionally caught his deep blue eyes staring at you. He only looked away when he realised you were staring at him again.

While engaging in an conversation with you, he pushed his fears aside and asked about the jukebox he had saw you write numbers on. After you had told him your job, he slightly shrugged. That makes sense, He thought to himself.

However, the conversation soon died out as the 'cheerful' owner, whom was called Sam Brewers, strutted up to the pair of you. Even more conversation was held about Vinces job and letter, and he could feel himself become more hyped for this job Hunk had put him up to.

"When can I start?" Vince readjusted himself in his seat, somehow keeping a pokerface in front of you and the owner.

"Oh, whenever you want." Sam said, shaking Vince's hand.

"Can, uhh, those guys play with me when I sing?" Vince asked, hiding his excited grin.

"...sing?" Sam repeated, "No, you'll work as a bar boy. Make setups and bring ice. So, Hunk taught you a couple songs? Swell. Be the life of the next party you go to. But, uhh, we don't have opportunity night here."

Vince could feel his expression slowly drooping. Didn't Hunk write it on the letter? Why isn't this old man who looks as if he had survived 30 wars from the 1800s listening to Hunk on this? And 'opportunity night'? He's just taking the cake now, isn't he?

Hearing a man's roaring laughter, he felt himself slowly loose his mind and succumb to anger. He stopped singing and playing his acoustic guitar for a second, looking up at the cigarette-wielding man.