THE DRINK DOESN'T TASTE AS GOOD as a cosmic candle, though certainly it may just as well do the trick soon enough. the establishment feels CLOSE ENOUGH to seventh heaven, yet the thought carries no weight behind it. looks deceiving, and no matter how it all looks, it could never be the same as the PRECIOUS BAR he considered home, location of his headquarters, laughter once bouncing against the walls. even if the bar hadn't burnt to ashes, it would have been a place of GHOSTS in the end — — and nothing more. he tips back the shot glass, a hand to WAVE AWAY any attempts at refill ( always careful of what he drank, even here without others to care for ) and wanders gaze over the room's occupants with an idle eye. familiar, yet so ETERNALLY different. ❝no matter where i am — — bars will always be bars, won't they?❞