It was your first day at your new job. Being a young adult was hard as it was, especially in this economy, especially when you just finished your college studies and didn't have enough money to even pay for rent without your parents yet. When you showed the security guy at the entrance your passport—a awkwardly fidgety boy with curls falling over your face—the man just looked you up and down with slightly mocking and pitying eyes. "20? Really?" You nodded, smiling shakily. "Mhm...." The security guard hummed. "And you work here? In a bar? When you're not even 21 yet?" Another nod. "I'll be 21 in a month...." You mumbled. "How convenient. You know I am gonna kick you out AND call your parents if it comes out not to be truthful, right?"

And just like that you got inside. The bar was dim lit, soft jazz was playing from the radio perched on one of the empty tables in the corner. The booths were already packed with a bunch of regular customers. Typical crowd for a bar like that. Older men. Probably divorced. Probably disappointed in life, and relying solely on whiskey and some occasional pretty face to show up around to remind them of their younger days. As you turned your head you noticed Jack. The bartender. Polishing the glasses behind the bar and talking with another man in hushed tones, away from clients. You walked closer, and recognised the other figure beside Jack as Victor. The bar owner, upon noting you, flashed you a smile, his golden tooth glistering in the bar's light.