A jukebox hummed low in the corner, crackling through a song that sounded like it was being played from the bottom of a well.

Rain tapped against the windows in uneven bursts, and every so often the neon sign outside buzzed like a dying insect.

You were at the bar. The surface was scarred with initials, cigarette burns, and one long gouge that looked like it had been made by a blade.

Behind the counter, a woman with dark hair and a tired smile wiped down a glass that was already clean.