Drinking, admittedly, was a staple in Arthur’s life. Every Thursday night ( because to claim Friday a drinking night felt pretentious, though maybe claiming Thursday was, too, ) he would make his way to a local bar, or maybe just any bar he happened to be near at the time, and would indulge in a beer. Or two, or three. Maybe, by some standards, he was a few steps shy an alcoholic. But, only on Thursdays.
And, at times, on the rest of the weekdays. Mostly Thursdays. Inside, it held the same presence every other bar had; someplace you could get a drink, but not friendship. Which was good, because he didn’t drink to find friends. His green eyes scan across the meager crowd, quickly unimpressed, and takes a seat at the furthest end of the bar, to order a beer, and a glass of water to accompany it. That’s how it began, something to water down the intoxicants. He wouldn’t be drinking that water for long, though.
Tony could feel his 5th swishing around in his stomach. As soon as he got some wings in his stomach he'd be fine though. He fished around in his pockets and took out his wallet, leaving a 20 on the counter. Along with his wallet. Though he'd never admit it, he was so drunk he'd forget his head if it wasn't attached to his body. He teetered out of the bar, slamming the door behind him.Â
