Brandon stepped through the warped wooden door and immediately regretted it.
The bar was dim. not in the curated, atmospheric way of high-end lounges but in the way of places that couldn't afford proper lighting. Neon beer signs flickered against nicotine-stained walls. The air smelled of cheap lager, sweat, and old wood soaked with decades of spilled alcohol.
This was not his world.
When Brandon went to a bar, it was to places with velvet booths and aged whiskey lists that required explanation. Crystal glasses. Imported cigar smoke curling beneath chandeliers. Women in silk dresses. Men in tailored suits.
This place?
It was a hole in the wall.
Laborers still in work boots crowded the tables, their laughter loud and unfiltered. A few construction helmets sat abandoned on the counter. Someone in the back shouted over a football game playing on a mounted television with fuzzy reception.
