Synopsis

In the dimly lit Dr. Tipsy Bar.

An underground bar, where secrets mingled with the swirl of people's broken hearts, three distinct figures walked through the entrance at different times.

First to arrive was Matt, the seasoned bartender. At 32, he possessed a rugged charm, standing a solid six feet two, with a well-built frame.

He began his night shift right away, ready to cater to the cravings of the eclectic crowd.

"Keep them coming!" a voice bellowed from a corner table, and Matt promptly obliged, the clinking of glasses punctuating the pulsating music.

Britney, the petite waitress, weaving her way through the crowded dance floor, added the man some more drinks.

Much shorter than Matt, she tiptoed to whisper a secretive message in his ear amid the din of the bar. "That man is a titan."

In that noise, Britney shouted the secret in Matt's ear, pointing at the chubby man.

Unaware of the direction this was heading, Matt quirked an eyebrow, "You f…"

Britney promptly cut him off with a scoff, "Eew! Who do you take me for?", Britney anchored her slim body against Matt's brick-like figure, adding, "He should have blacked out by now."

Smirking, Matt retorted, "This is a judgment-free zone, cutie. Let the man drown his sorrows in peace, will you?"

Hours passed, and the neon lights of Dr. Tipsy Bar began to flicker as the clock struck two in the morning.

The man, roughly Matt's age, short, chubby, and impeccably dressed despite his inebriation, remained firmly planted at his table.

Matt recognized him as the same individual who had clamored for more alcohol earlier.

Approaching the still-seated man, Matt gently informed him, "We're closing up, buddy. You'll have to find somewhere else to soak in your misery." Although gentle, Matt's voice came out strong and commanding.

The man shot Matt an angry, bleary-eyed glare, his gaze resembling a revolving door as his eyes opened and closed erratically. Attempting to rise proved futile as he wobbled unsteadily.

"What the fuck happened to you, dude?" Matt inquired with a hint of sarcasm, though concern lurked beneath.

"That bitch!" the man spat out, extending his credit card toward Matt.

.Britney had already taken care of charging him for the drinks, Matt now held the credit card.

At first, Matt contemplated the idea of double-charging him, but halfway through the transaction, the man uttered words that stirred sympathy within him.

"I want to kill Charli."

In the dimly lit Dr. Tipsy Bar, the heavy-bearded man's startling revelation hung in the air, a confession so unexpected that it sent ripples through the room.

Matt, resonating with the man's words, raised his face to stare at the man. He withdrew the credit card from the machine. The man was already beaten down.

Drew, a local dealer who had just emerged from the washrooms, couldn't help but comment dryly, "Shit, now everybody has a Charli to kill?"

He shot a sidelong glance at Matt, a hint of humor dancing in his eyes as he asked, "Aren't you afraid of us, tall boy?"

Matt, no stranger to the darker elements of the city, remained unfazed. He knew there were worse things than dealing with potential killers in his bar.

They hadn't killed Charli yet, and perhaps they never would. They are wannabe killers.

Matt was about to confirm his stance on the matter when the drunk man, still in a haze of alcohol, retorted, "I'm not talking about a Charlie. I wish he was a man."

"Crack!"

Matt's grip on a glass tightened, causing it to shatter in his hand." Shit!".

Drew, weary of the escalating tension, shot Matt an urgent look.

Sigh

"Damn! You wanna kill Charli too?" Drew asked nonchalantly, lighting a cigarette. His lighter, empty inside of the liquid, was reluctant to light. He shook it vigorously, a trick that failed to work.

Matt took a lighter out of his pants' front pocket and threw it at Drew. He caught it midair ,"terrible throw."

Unable to bear the suspense any longer, Matt looked at the drunk man than Drew, and asked, "Describe her."

Taking a whiff of the cigarette, Drew replied with a hint of sarcasm, "Walking trouble? White-haired psycho bitch."

When he replied, smoke came out of his mouth.

Matt, now bleeding from his palm, approached the drunk, chubby man with determination. "What about yours?" he demanded.

The inebriated man, struggling to recall the conversation, replied with a perplexed, "What?"

"Charli! Describe her," Matt reiterated firmly.

The drunk, perfectly dressed man smirked as he recalled, "She has this killer ass."

Matt continued probing. "Always in a good mood?"

"I want her out of my apartment building, but I'm too frightened to ask her to move out," the man confessed, his emotions raw.

His eyes were heavier by the minute. The drunk landlord stopped trying to be awake. The alcohol finally won.

Matt decided it was time to act. "We should wake him up! I'll get some milk," he said hastily, retreating to the bar area.

That confirmed Matt's worries; they all were talking about the same Charli.

"What are the odds?" Matt exclaimed, referring to the improbable coincidence of discussing the same Charli. He tied his hand using a napkin.

Drew, however, seemed less surprised.

"Who doesn't want to kill that bitch?" Drew remarked casually.

Matt couldn't help but add with a smirk, "Sounds to me like he wants to fuck her," alluding to the landlord's description of Charli's "killer ass."

Drew, his eyes dry, "Who doesn't."

Matt handed the drunk landlord a glass of milk, hoping it would help counteract the effects of the alcohol. However, it seemed that the liquor had taken firm control of the man.

Frustration mounting, Matt resorted to slapping him repeatedly, barking, "Wake the heck up!"

Amid the futile attempts to rouse the inebriated man, Matt turned to Drew with a quizzical expression. "So, you fucked her?"

To Matt's surprise, Drew was no longer there. He glanced around the bar, only to find a space where his acquaintance had been just moments before.

"Damn it!" Matt muttered, cursing his bad luck.

Realizing that the landlord was in no condition to provide any answers, Matt decided to leave it there. He gently rolled the intoxicated man over, searching his pockets for a wallet. He found it and extracted a business card.

With a sense of determination, Matt double-charged him before withdrawing some cash from the register.

His muscular physique made lifting the drunk landlord seem effortless. He hoisted the man as if he were weightless, positioning him next to a city streetlight.

Ignoring the drip falling out of the man's mouth, Matt pushed his body against the streetlight. The man's mouth kissed the cold metal.

Matt swiftly called a cab, instructing the driver to pick up the barely conscious man.

He handed the driver the cash he had taken from the bar before tossing the drunk landlord into the backseat of the yellow cab with all the grace of a sack of potatoes.

Closing the door, he couldn't contain his frustration any longer and shouted into the night.

"Freaking Charli!"

The mysterious name resonated in the darkened streets, a mystery to anyone who didn't know what it meant.