Walter braced, a crowd poured into the room; rampant, jell-slicked, alcopop fueled youth. Curling his lips inwards in shyness, Walter sat perched on the bar stool as a brooding skylark, his personal inadequacies reflected through the blink of a strobe-light blinded eye. Who were these people, what were they?. Walter reminisced about his youth, Sunday nights spent watching national geographic; they reminded him of a gazelle herd, lead by the scent of a female and monosyllabic bleats, indistinguishable between the similarities of their precious brand-fur, these human species were not so different, it struck Walter.
Peering behind the bar, Walter scrupulously examined the rainbow'd collection of alcohol brands neatly packed on the shelves. Noticing how many people zealously gulped down an assortment of coloured alcohol concoctions, Walter bit his lip in an act of restrained confidence, and slowly aimed his arm towards his phone to answer the pestering tone of mother dearest.
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