I’m at the bar again, the same bar. It’s a habit now.

I hate this bar. It’s always dirty. There are beer cans scattered around. The lights flicker. The stained floor tiles are chipped. The tables wobble. The chairs have holes and tears in them. There is smoke everywhere. The place smells like sweat, and vomit. Everyone here looks tired, you can see it in their eyes. They do not make conversation. The sit alone accompanied only by a bottle of liquor. They are enthralled in their own thoughts, in their own pain. They are here for the same reason as me.