a man walks into a bar. he insists on they/them pronouns, by the way. but he’s fine with the canonical ones as well — he wouldn’t pressure you into anything. this is very important context to the story. there’s also a 5.99 special for some steak. oh no, not at the bar. but some restaurant somewhere most definitely has a special for steak at the fine price of 5.99. it might not be very good steak. it might not even be a lot of steak due to present-day inflation rates, but at least it’s steak.

the man pulls up a chair. it’s one of the wooden stools without a back. it’s obnoxiously tall, but less obnoxious than strutting around saying you go by they/them pronouns and announcing on not eating steak because you are a vegan, despite the bar not having any steak. he slides into the seat. was he supposed to wait to be seated? not sure if it matters in this context, since the bar is closed. i should’ve mentioned this, should I? but now your mental imagery is all messed up, since you likely assumed it was a brightly lit cafe with a bartender and a row of stools and idle chatter and somewhere along the way, a punchline.

but no, it’s dark. inside and out. the man was still able to find a seat, because he was the owner. he knew the ins and outs of his esteemed establishment well, better than the back of his hand, because, honestly, who even looks at the back of their hands unless they are trying to cut themselves? the man certainly was not. and was not going to in the foreseeable future. he did always carry a concealed handgun though, just in case things got dicey at the bar.

if you looked inside from the window, you would see him with his hands in his face. you would also probably be considered a creep for staring, especially since it’s two in the morning. even still, the number of people out and about outnumbered the number of reasons why he should have to live another day. he could really use a drink right now. he’s still processing his wife’s death and divorce, so he could really use a drink.

the divorce happened first. it had something to do with him being drunk and antagonistic all the time. but really, who isn’t in today’s day and age? the drunk part, he should clarify. drunk off work, drunk off recognition, drunk off approval. and of course, drunk off a stiff beer.

the man lifts his eyes, brimming with tears and lifeless under the pale glow of the moon. the moon wasn’t really shining - it was more-so the streetlights reflecting off of the impossibly high buildings, but regardless, the modicum of light made the darkness that much more penetrating.

his focus darts up and down the shelves, which are barren. surely there’s a bottle somewhere here? his eyes catch the corner of the crumpled eviction notice, dangling off the shelf the way his ex…

but he pretends not to see. it’s very easy to ignore the unpleasant things in life. that homeless man at the corner of the street. the wars. the starving children. the rape and murder. clichéd to the point of ignorance. all the man wanted to do for now, however, was to ignore his eviction notice.

his hands brush against the shelves. probably ikea shelves. cheap mahogany and pale plaster. he wasn’t there for the construction. he wasn’t there for his wife’s death either. not that it would’ve made a difference.

outside of the wooden shelves, what else was cheap in his life? his phone insurance? his netflix subscription? his house? what flaky trustworthiness there was in a subscription. a friendship. a financing. marriages were no different. fickle. fickle. fickle. rug pulled the second you start getting comfortable with the fine print.

the man saw his reflection on one of the glass counters. a wounded animal peered back. teeth still bared from the hatred he held on to. eyes still saddened from the grief he refused to address.

the bar was dark.

there were no more drinks.

he knew before he even looked.

what he really wished for… what he wished for, now, more than anything, was for someone to hold him, to wrap him tenderly in her embrace. to have someone to share a 5.99 steak with and commiserate about the ridiculously small portion size. to peer at his current expression and whisper softly into his ear with a playful grin and a flick of stray hair…

“why the long face?”

…

imagining such a moment, he smiled the smile of a man who had been through too much.

he turned from his reflection.

and then he shot himself.