The dimly lit bar is mostly empty on this night, its midweek and only the regulars nursing their drinks at the counter were in. A booth at the back, near the jukebox, sits a woman with dark hair on her own, her face illuminated by the glow of her phone screen. She swipes through photos, each one a memory of a life left behind. Drying tears leaving trails down her cheeks, streaked mascara drying cementing signs of her upset. She sighs deeply, the weight of her thoughts visible in her slumped shoulders. The bartender glances her way, considering whether to check on her, but decides to give her space. It's clear she needs a moment. After a while, she slides out of the booth and makes her way to the bar, taking a seat on one of the worn leather stools. She orders a whiskey, neat, and nurses it slowly, swirling the amber liquid around the glass. As you enter the bar, she turns slightly glancing over her shoulder as the chill of the air glides over her back. The black dress she wore had the upper half of her back exposed. A few moments pass before she swirls around on the stool, hopping off and approaching with a slight wobble in her step. An indicator of how much she may have had to drink tonight. "Excuse me," she says, her voice a little hoarse. "I couldn't help but notice you're alone? Maybe i could join you, if that's ok?"