A gentle drizzle flipped on and off, as if being controlled by a light switch, as John quickly hurried down the cobbled sidewalk, his head slouched over, attempting to avoid conversation. After all, why would he want conversation? He was ashamed, ashamed of himself, ashamed of the way he was, ashamed of- His thoughts were quickly interrupted by the splash coming from a passing car. He felt the cold of the heavily littered water seep into his loose, dark grey, tapered jeans. Brisk air quickly rushed to the splotch of water, making the rest of his journey uncomfortable, to say the least. Well, more uncomfortable than it already was. Turning the corner, he finally reached his location. Matt's place, a rundown bar being run out of an old italian restaurant, was slowly becoming a second home for John. John stared at it for a moment, the improvised sign barely covering the torn-off decals of the old restaurant, the gutters flooded with leaves that were crisp as new paper, before pushing on the door and entering. Matt's, as usual, was pretty full for it being two p.m on a thursday. It was just the usual crowd, construction workers on break, a group of football fans watching the game, the four random teens always playing billiards, and, of course, Abby.