The place was nearly packed with people since it was closing time. Many of them were going home after work or just passing through, having a drink or two.
Most patrons were from middle-class families—neither rich nor poor—seeking relaxation, a way to unwind, and escape the monotony of the office and home.
They came with friends, colleagues, or alone.
Some simply wanted to enjoy a drink solo, or perhaps they couldn't afford to treat others.
Wooden tables and chairs were arranged for the customers, who sat in groups of four or five, chatting freely about their stingy bosses and family tensions, oblivious to anyone passing by, even if it were their boss.
They were unconcerned about who was entering or exiting.
Bartenders in black and white uniforms served the customers, most of whom were in their mid-twenties.
Finally, there was the last category of people. They sat on the cozy sofa, observing everything from the sidelines. These were individuals with political influence or greater wealth who preferred not to mingle with the others.
Paul quietly observed these scenes unfolding before him, walking slowly, trying to blend in. His head was still covered by a hood, and his hands were in his hoodie pockets.
The lights flashed erratically, alternating between blue, red, and other colors every second.
He avoided any unnecessary trouble or drawing attention to himself.
He finally reached the bar counter.
Stool chairs lined the bar. He looked to his right and saw five customers giving their orders to two women bartenders. The customers were on the right side of the counter.
He casually took a seat on the left corner and pulled down his hood.
When the customers on the right side finished ordering, one of the women noticed Paul sitting on the last stool to the left.
She glanced sideways and walked up to him.
She wore a tight t-shirt and a revealing mini-skirt. Her light brown, curly hair was tied in a bun. Red lipstick adorned her lips, but her eyes looked tired and frustrated.
She had light brown skin. When she arrived in front of Paul, he looked up.
The bartender's first thought upon seeing Paul's face was, "Kid."
She raised her eyebrows and asked for his order. Paul didn't respond; he just looked at her. When she started to feel awkward, he smiled faintly. The bartender gave an awkward smile, tapped the table, and asked, "What do you need, kid?" She completed the last word in her mind.
"Oh..." Paul snapped back to reality. "You..." he said softly, but his voice clearly reached her.
"What a creep!" she thought.
But Paul continued, "Sorry, that's a bit far out, but you can just shoot me your digits for now, what you say?"
"What?!" Irritated and confused, she blurted out whatever came to mind: "Shut up and just say what you want. I have a lot to do and other customers to take care of."
"Isn't that what you're paid for?" Paul's expression became more serious. "My bad if I talk a little harshly, but that's who I am. Don't get second thoughts though. I'm asking for your number just because I just came here, you know? So just thought maybe we could just… you know whenever are you free. I don't have any second thoughts about you either, just a simple tour that's all I need.
Her expression remained unchanged, still confused. Seeing this, Paul gave up and thought he'd try someone else. He tapped lightly with his finger and ordered, "One large beer, please."
The bartender heard him and went to the right side to get the beer.
Paul watched her as she spoke with her friend, the other bartender, while filling the large glass mug. A few minutes later, she returned to Paul.
Seeing her, Paul gave another faint, genuine smile.
She lightly placed the beer in front of him, and Paul took his left hand out of his pocket and placed some cash in front of her.
"I forgot to mention the main thing: of course, it won't be free."
She looked at Paul as if trying to read his mind, but, of course, she couldn't. She wasn't telepathic or psychic. She grabbed the cash and said, "Wait here."
It was faint, but Paul heard it clearly. That was enough, he thought. He leisurely waited without touching the beer, just watching the small bubbles.
She returned three minutes later, and Paul noticed a white handkerchief in her left hand.
She placed the handkerchief in front of him. It contained a black marker. She moved her face closer to Paul. "I'll call you later when I'm free... promise," and then moved her face back.
Paul responded, "Now you're talking."
She then walked away to other customers. Paul watched her retreating form and wrote something on the handkerchief. After finishing, he lifted his beer mug with his right hand and left the counter, leaving a black marker behind.
When the bartender returned to the spot on the left side where Paul had been sitting moments before, she only found the black marker. The handkerchief with Paul's number was gone. Paul had already disappeared into the crowd.
She thought, "Did I mess up? Nah, that kid probably has a few screws loose." She sighed inwardly and went back to her work.
In this packed place, most people come with friends, family, relatives, or neighbors. They usually don't come alone, though there are a few who do.
Unnoticed, in the far right corner, a young man sat alone in a wooden chair, his face turned sideways and resting on the table as he stared at the empty glass mug that had been filled with beer twenty minutes earlier.
His eyes looked lost. He had an expression that suggested he wished someone would end his life.
"Is there any reason to live? Forget about that, how can anyone even live?" he thought to himself.
He was just like any other youth who came here to earn money, but only the people who live here know how it truly works.
It had been almost a month since he came to Corsalis. He, too, had thought, "How hard could it be?" He would try his best. But after just a month, he was like this. He didn't have any other choice left. The money he had when he arrived was all gone.
The last of it he had just spent drinking, and now he was staring blankly, wondering what he would do next.
Was this the end for him?
With a thump, someone placed a large glass mug in front of him.
It was filled with beer. He felt a surge of energy upon seeing the mug full of beer. He slightly raised his head, trying to find the giver of this golden liquid.
At first, he saw a figure standing before him, shrouded in a dark hood, but when the figure sat down and pulled back the hood, revealing his face, he felt a sense of relief.
He couldn't tell why. Was it simply because the hooded figure looked like a teenager, or was it something else?
"Nineteen? Nah, eighteen," he thought. "Maybe I was like him too, always drinking. If only I would've worked harder. But what's gone is gone."
He was about to say something when the figure in front of him pushed a white handkerchief towards him.
He read the words on it, written in black marker. He read them twice but remained confused. What did they even mean?
But when the figure pushed the glass mug toward him, he nodded his head slightly. "I'll just have to play along with him."
Paul talked with him for fifteen minutes and finally said goodbye as if he knew the man well.
After exiting the bar, he checked the time. It was 8:15, and he decided to walk all the way home.
After reaching his apartment, he took a quick shower, changed into light clothes and sat on the sofa.
He started tapping out a message to someone, but his finger stopped. His eyes drifted upward to the white ceiling, which was currently dark because the lights were off.
He thought for a second. It was better to just call, he guessed. He deleted the message and tried calling.
Three rings later. "Yeah, it's me."
It was Simon's voice.
Paul skipped the usual small talk and got straight to the point.
"Okay, I'll be there," Simon replied calmly, without asking anything else, and ended the call.
Paul checked the time on his smartphone. It was almost ten. He stood up from the sofa and walked towards the small balcony behind it.
Like a motionless puppet controlled by invisible threads, which were impossible to see with the naked eye, he stood there looking at the night city.
The streets below him. Up above were the stars and a half-moon. Everything was just....