This was the third night in a row that Nate found himself planted at the bar of the Empire, nursing a Scotch with trembling fingers. This was the third night that he planned on going up to Chuckâs room. The room, where he lived, and where he died. So far, he hadnât made it past the restroom that was just south of the bar itself. Maybe he wouldnât tonight, and maybe that would have to be okay. Somehow, facing the empty hotel room felt more final than watching the casket be lowered. It felt more like Nate needed to be absolutely smashed to even think about properly processing his emotions. He upended the liquor into his mouth before sliding the glass across the bar. He felt a body slide onto the stool next to him but kept his eyes firmly trained on the bartender pouring him another. âIf youâre here to judge me for drinking alone on a Tuesday night, Iâm not really in the mood.â
