I was twenty-four when I first started working at the bar and it was suppose to be a temporary gig. A way to put a couple bucks in my pocket while I searched for a "real job". I never could decide whether I choose the bar or the bar choose me but something about the place felt like home. A belief that would drive my ex up a wall and eventually out the door. She didn't understand my infatuation with the bar, my obsession with its clientele. I came to love its unique aroma of confused souls who wandered in, looking for the missing parts of their whole like they could find it at the bottom of a bottle. The liquor never lied unlike their boss who promised that raise, their spouse who promised to be faithful or the television who told them they weren't important. The ***** promised intoxication and she never failed to deliver on that promise. Maybe, thats why they kept coming. They were looking for the truth they couldn't find in people.