Mass Execution

Happiness

I enter the bar I was given the address to.
Grin Street 506.
Well, the people certainly look happy in here. I think to myself as I look around.
I sit down at a bar stool, trying to not make eye contact with anyone.
„May I offer you some of our finest bourbon, miss?"
I should have known. I look up, pretending to be surprised. I see a male in his 20s around 5,8', olive skin, clearly has had his shift for quite a long while, which I deducted off of the wrinkles on his white shirt and his jacket, tired eyes and a sleepy voice. Otherwise, he could be considered quite handsome. Nicely brushed brown hair not being long nor short, matching eyes and a weaker but well taken care of beard, a slim nose, ordinary lips with a strong cheekbone.
I decide to be kind.
„I definitely will not pass on a glass of Jim Beam, sir." I smile at him, giving him a slight nod.
„It is my pleasure." he responds with a genuine laugh. This friendly moment is interrupted by someone wrapping their arms around me, or should I say them trying to? As I have already shoved the person off of me I get ready to beat the sense out of anyone that touches me, like I have completely gone mad. The only thing I hear is the disco music, and my vision is suddenly blurry as if I was drunk. When I realize there is a human standing right in front of me, I try to hit them with a right hook but end up almost falling but getting caught. Then I hear a few words. Some aussie.
„Let's not make a scene, ey?"