The room was dimly lit, the bulb had cast an orangish glow over the couch, low murmurs serving as background music.
Today, there weren't many people in the bar, which was expected for a weekday. People had errands to run and didn't have time to relax or intoxicate themselves with bitter liquor to forget their worries, even for a brief moment.
On the couch, someone sat with eyes on the verge of closing, their state hovering between consciousness and unconsciousness, intoxicated by alcohol.
Some may perceive him as a habitual drinker, others may believe he's simply trying to escape reality, and some may even suspect he's using alcohol as a coping mechanism for depression.
But perhaps he's a bit of everything. Maybe he's not depressed but rather feeling empty sadness?
Something tragic had occurred in his life, if you could call it that, leading him to end up in a bar, getting drunk, and losing his senses.
In another corner of the room, someone leaned against the wall, their expression unreadable as they stared intensely at the man on the couch, almost as if they were studying every inch of him.
A clicking sound accompanied by a flash going off from his phone as he took a picture of the drunken man, a slight smirk playing on his lips.
