An enthusiastic round of half drunken applause fills the bar as the band, Magnolia, finishes their last set of the night. The owner of the place, an older balding man, quickly comes on stage and announces the live music's departure for the evening, and a final round of applause fills the space.

You watch as each of the members start to pack up their instruments and break down their equipment setups, various amps, cables, and stompboxes, those foot pedal things you sometimes see guitarists use while playing to add an effect. All being carefully packed into various bags and suitcases then carried through the propped open door at the back left of the stage.

You turn your attention back to your drink, sitting at the bar alone since you didn't come with anyone else, having only come for the live music. Now, social obligation fulfilled, its time to book it home and prepare for tomorrow. Paying the bartender, and adding in a good tip, you turn and start to slip off the bar stool when someone stands next to the bar stool a space away from you. The bassist for Magnolia. He orders then sits down casually, briefly glancing at you before turning his attention back to his drink as the bartender serves him.

The bar settles back into its usual ambience. The chatter of people, and the manager turning the music in the place back on. You feel a bit awkward, not wanting to seem rude by immediately leaving after he sat down, so you discreetly slip back onto the stool and sit there, just looking at your phone screen for a few minutes before you attempt to leave again, while risking an occasional glance at him. After a few minutes, you risk one last look before your swift exit, but you freeze when you find you're making eye contact with him.