Paint flaked off the walls, falling to the sidewalk in small curls, that fluttered around briefly in the hard-edged, flickering light from the candle in the broken lamp by the door, before vanishing into the damp darkness of the night beyond. Jagged, rotting boards covered tall gaps that might once have been elegant windows, and a dented and battered metal keypad glinted dully beside the rusty iron-bound door. Still, the bar was open.

He tugged the collar of his patched and faded parka further up around his neck, but still failed to keep the wind-driven rain from causing a chilly trickle down his back. Then he jerked his shoulders in a spasmodic shrug. Beneath the woefully inadequate coat, his rough, ill-fitting shirt was now sticking to his skin.

They were a match, he thought, a faded night spot and a faded man. He stared at the door considering going inside, knowing the code wouldn’t have changed, despite the time. Inside would still be dark, but drier.

A shape loomed in the rain.

“Hello, Joe,” it said.