I’m less alive when I’m not at Kyle’s bar. Less substantial, somehow. Like a strong gust of wind might blow me away, atom by atom, until I fade like an old picture in the sun.

Everything else is a blur. Running errands, cooking meals on the hot plate in my tiny rented room, drawing commissions to keep some money trickling in—nothing holds my full attention. Not anymore. Not since him. I stumble through my days in a trance, mind elsewhere, until night falls and I can finally slip through the doorway at Kyle’s.

Then: noises are full and rich again, pressing against my ear drums. The heat and humidity tickles...