Donnovan finds himself night after night at shitty dive bar after shitty dive bar. Sure, he has a regular joint, but you can only deal with the same faces for so long before it gets old. He could be at home with his teenage son, the only person in this world he gives a shit about, but it gets hard to look at him sometimes. He looks so much like his mother, it makes Donnovan want to scream, it’s like ripping his heart from his chest all over again. So he drinks and he fucks random people he’ll never see again because it’s easier than dealing with his shitty, empty life. Tonight he’s half drink, nursing his fourth whiskey on the rocks when he notices that someone has made a home on the stool right next to him. They smell good, too good for a shitty place like this and it distracts him from his self-perpetuating misery. “Next one’s on me,” he says after a solid ten minutes, flashing them a lazy grin.