Bulbs of dim yellow illuminated the interior, with neon lights over and around the bar area. Dozens—nearing fifty or sixty—people were sat at the barstools or the circular tables around.
Fairy lights of yellow hung from corner to corner and above the tables. The chatter in here was as overwhelming as the smell of cigar smoke and various sugars and fruits, carrying light scents of alcohol with them.
The line from outside filtered in, allowing those who were departing to have some space. It seemed most patrons were making a beeline for the staircase on the opposite side of the doors, where neon lights descended down.
A small band played in the corner of the room, with a large hat to collect tips and take requests. However, the light energetic jive the band was playing, seemed to overlap over some other muffled music—the source of it, downstairs.
Fumeko walked forward, eyeing up to her side, "So, where's the crumb?"
