As I opened the door, the sound of the bell jingling reached my ears. I closed the door silently and went to where I usually sat and fantasized about things that wouldn't shape in reality; about things I couldn't make happen in reality. You guessed it right. I was escaping from reality. But, it wasn't easy to run away. You can't just close your eyes and hope that your mind will take you to a fairway land or to a distant dream that you have always yearned for. In order to reach that state of mind, you need something like a catalyst - to start the chemical reaction for your brain to shut down reality and lift you up towards the false heaven for a brief moment. For different people, the catalysts and conditions are different. For me, it was alcohol.

From the jingling of the bell, you may have thought that it was an antique coffee shop but no, it was actually a bar. Though it was a bar, the furniture and the environment of the place gave off the vibes of a classic coffee shop, however, instead of the scent of crushed coffee beans, you will be welcomed with a strong scent of alcohol and the reek of broken wishes and unfulfilled dreams.

Up on the high stool, I sat, and the bartender, looking at who the customer was, started preparing the drink without even a word. What did that mean? That I was a regular here.

He quickly whipped up the drink and I took a sip. As usual, the smell and taste of all of them were strong, just to my liking. As I took sip after sip of the drink, the bartender fiddled with some device and music started playing in the bar.

I haven't seen any sort of music system or a speaker installed in any place visible, so it was a mystery to all of the customers where the music was coming from. But I, along with all the others, had given up on unraveling that mystery. The music, wherever it was coming from, reached directly into our ears and reverberated inside our souls and mind. It was a mysterious experience that I got only in this place. And I liked that sense of mystery, as if the world doesn't want its secret to be known-Esque feeling; thus I gave up on finding the source of the sound and just kept reveling and losing myself in it. Well, usually, that was what I did. But today, I couldn't. For some reason.

The bartender noticed the unusual state I was in and asked me.

"What's this? You aren't going off to your fantasy world today?" His voice was elegant and smooth, unlike the crude appearance he had.

He had a shaved head with a tanned body and face, with toned muscles to boot. If I remember correctly, he was a migrant from South Africa. He had come here around thirty years ago when he was around nineteen or so years of age, at the height of his teenage years and from what I believe, at the height of stupidity. He probably ran away from his home in a show of rebellion or some other causes might have forced him to come all the way here. No one knew for sure. That was another mystery to us customers.

But even more than that, what was more mysterious than the music system or his past, was his appearance.

From what I had heard, he should be at least fifty years of age. But he looked to be in his mid-thirties at the best. From old folks around me, he looked the same today as when they had first come to this place. I agreed as well. He looked the same today as he was when I used to come to this place to pick my dad up. There was almost no change whatsoever. Almost as if he didn't age at all. I liked to guess the reason behind his immortality as did the other customers.

I didn't reply and just took another sip.

"What? Did something happen? Or is the drink not strong enough?"

"It is as usual. Something happened." I admitted.

"What is it? You can tell me. I am all ears. Just don't expect some advice." He snorted.

The reason why many people frequented this bar was because of the bartender here.

He listened to our ramblings, our frustrations, and to our problems and miseries without any qualms. He didn't offer suggestions, he just listened. That's why people loved to come here.

In life, we face a lot of problems, whether we want them or not. We have to solve it, whether we want it or not. Solving those problems sometimes takes time and sometimes it frustrates us. We need places we can vent that frustration out; a place where we feel heard. We don't need help. We know that at the end of the day the only one we can rely on, the only one who can, who will, and who has to help us, is us. So we don't expect help from others; just want to share our miseries and want someone to know of our struggles. And the bar I was currently in was the best place for that. He didn't offer suggestions, just listened; he didn't judge, just listened; he didn't pity us, just listened; he didn't offer us sympathy, he just listened. That was what we wanted; someone who will do nothing but just listen and listen.

I also gave a snort in response.

I took out an envelope from the breast pocket of my coat and placed it on the counter.

He just gave a cursory look at it and understood immediately.

"I see." He said.

Although I knew that he had already understood, I still wanted to get the words out of my mouth so that they will reach my ears and once against drive the point home.

"Yeah, she's getting married. This is the invitation card."

I gulped the rest of the drink in one go. It did burn my throat but I wasn't able to dream about us and lose myself to my drunken fantasy.

"Next time, make it stronger."

I paid and got up from my seat.

The bartender gave an 'Okay' but I didn't hear it.

As I walked to the door, the music from the mysterious speaker was ringing inside my head, stirring my soul and breaking my heart apart.

Oh, Ophelia, you've been on my mind, girl, like a drug

Oh, Ophelia, Heaven help the fool who falls in love