He sits, emotionless, on the bar stool as he has for the past century, it seems. He could wander, away from-- life, as it perils him past memories, as they chase him future moments he prefers, averted. But he's always faced his fears, head on. He waits, as he always had. In a neverending fear- never as close to bliss, as he would hope to be. He could abstain from this, he could walk away and never come back, but for whats it worth his tears have long disapeared, and its better to recieve pay for something he's lost, and cant get back. And life goes on, around a broken man, around a full man too, for what its worth. Nature is never pliant, and life is always fruitful, Just dont out-grow your fishbowl too soon. This is kinda a nonsense rant to anyone reading. My apologies. It kinda means something, kinda doesnt.