Faded With A Stranger

Chapter 1: Lost & Restless

The rooftop bar in Austin, Texas, was alive with the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses, a sharp contrast to Chris Randall's growing sense of isolation. As he leaned against the railing, the city lights below twinkled like a sea of distant stars. It was supposed to be a special night—a chance to unwind and maybe even ignite a spark with someone new. Instead, Chris found himself alone, nursing a half-empty glass of bourbon and staring into the distance.

His date had stood him up. At first, he'd been willing to wait, convinced that maybe she'd show up late or have a good excuse. But as the minutes turned into hours, hope dwindled, leaving him feeling more restless with each passing moment. The initial excitement of a night out had turned into a dull ache of disappointment.

Chris ran a hand through his hair and glanced at his watch. It was getting late, and he knew he should probably head home. The thought of spending the rest of the night alone in his apartment, watching Netflix and smoking a joint, seemed like the most appealing option at this point. It wasn't the glamorous ending he'd envisioned, but it was better than lingering in a place where he felt out of place.

As he prepared to leave, a commotion at the bar caught his attention. An older man, who looked out of place in the upscale surroundings, was arguing with the bartender. The man's face was lined with age and regret, his clothes rumpled and his posture slouched. It was clear from the bartender's exasperated expression that the older man's credit card had been declined multiple times.

Chris's initial instinct was to ignore the scene and leave quietly, but something about the situation tugged at his conscience. He felt a pang of empathy for the old man—someone who seemed to be struggling in a way he couldn't fully understand. With a sigh, Chris decided to intervene.

He approached the bar and tapped the older man on the shoulder. The man turned slowly, his eyes bleary but curious. "Hey," Chris said, "I'll cover your tab. Don't worry about it."

The old man squinted at him, a mix of surprise and confusion on his face. "You don't have to do that," he muttered.

"It's no problem," Chris replied, waving off the old man's protest. "It's just a drink. Let's call it a random act of kindness."

Chris paid the bill and motioned for the bartender to put another round on his tab. He then gestured to the old man to join him at his table. "Why don't you sit down? I'd like to buy you a drink."

The old man hesitated, then shrugged and followed Chris to his table. He took a seat across from him, and Chris could see the weariness in his eyes. "I'm Chris," he said, extending a hand.

"Doug," the old man replied, shaking Chris's hand with a firm grip. His voice was gravelly, tinged with an accent that hinted at a life lived hard.

"So, Doug," Chris began, trying to break the ice. "What do you do?"

Doug's laugh was short and humorless. "Drugs," he said flatly, his gaze dropping to the table as if the answer was too painful to deliver with pride.

Chris raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the bluntness of Doug's response. "Drugs? Like... what kind of drugs?"

Doug met Chris's eyes with a knowing look. "The kind that gets you through the day. The kind that makes you forget how far you've fallen from where you wanted to be."

Chris wasn't sure if Doug was being cryptic or just resigned to his fate, but the honesty in his voice struck a chord. He felt a strange sense of connection with this man who seemed so out of place in the polished, glamorous setting of the bar.

"Well," Chris said, trying to lighten the mood, "I guess we've got something in common then. I'm here for a date that didn't pan out, and you're... here for reasons that are probably more complicated than my own."

Doug chuckled, a rough sound that seemed to carry a lifetime of stories. "Seems like we're both searching for something tonight."

Before Chris could respond, Doug pulled out a small bag from his blazer pocket. The sight of it was a jolt of reality, and Chris felt a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Doug's hand shook slightly as he opened the bag and poured a small amount of white powder onto the table.

"Ever tried this?" Doug asked, his eyes meeting Chris's with a challenging glint.

Chris's heart raced. He was at a crossroads—he could walk away, stick to his original plan of a quiet night alone, or take a leap into the unknown. Something about Doug's raw honesty and the promise of escape was tempting.

He glanced around the bar, suddenly aware of how out of place he felt in this pristine environment. With a deep breath, Chris made a decision. "Let's see where the night takes us."

Doug's face lit up with a mixture of relief and excitement. "All right then," he said, gathering the powder and tucking the bag away. "Let's make it a night to remember."

As they headed towards the bathroom, Chris felt a strange sense of exhilaration mixed with trepidation. The night ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, but it promised to be anything but ordinary.