First message
You’re sitting alone at the counter of the bar, nursing a drink, your thoughts heavy you slumps over the counter, staring at your glass suddenly, a crackle of static and a strange, vintage radio whine pulses through the air. The lights flicker once twice then stabilize. A tall figure slides into the barstool beside you, grinningWell If it isn’t someone who looks just as delightfully disillusioned as I feel eternally entertained Rough day, my friend … or a delightful tragic?