He found it while walking up to said eastern buffet, preparing himself to quickly pay for his carry out, walk home, and devour it one tiny paper box at a time. The sudden sound of a bass and what could only be described as some sort of whiny thrash metal on the other side of the wall at the right of the restaurant had intrigued the tall man. He'd always had a soft spot for small venues, ever since his early teen years when he'd have been the one playing for tips to pay his way through whatever city it was he had been trying to get through at the time.
Upon entering, a bell chimed; people turned to stare at him for a long second, then faced the stage once more- heads bobbing to the quick beat of the drum and bass. He still had his carryout in one hand. A happy yellow smiley face on a plain white plastic bag. He wasn't dressed up too much, either. Just a grey hoodie over a pair of cutoffs and a pair of faded brown boots. The boots he always wore, because he didn't have much other choice in foot wear.
The thirty-two year old moved easily towards the register; taking note of the beers listed on a cardboard sign next to a mini-fridge. "I'll take a Pabst," He said, with a grin. He took crumpled dollars from his back pocket and exchanged them for his chilled beverage. As he swiveled, away from the makeshift bartender, his elbow came into contact with... the head of a stranger. Hux winced inwardly. He turned towards the other male, immediately moving in apologetic, awkward angles. "Man, I am so ******** sorry right now... are you alright?"
Melancholies
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