You awoke sitting in a chair. Well, you didn't really wake up, it was more like you were just there. And it wasn't really a chair, it was more like the most uncomfortable thing you'd ever sat on.

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You were sitting in a bar, or rather, it looked like a bar. It probably wasn't actually a bar. Perhaps a saloon. A pub, by any other name, is just as much a dive as this cesspool. Not a beer garden or a bistro, those would make it sound somewhat pleasant. Alehouse, maybe. A honky-tonk. That name sounds weird.

Honky-tonk...[I]honky-tonk[/I]...tee-hee.

Gruff men in dark outfits sat in dark corners. Who in the hell pays the lighting in this dump? All you can make out is a bunch of squiggles, as if the shadows themselves were poorly drawn by some wanna-be artist.

You feel like a moron because it takes you all of two minutes of looking around before you notice the man sitting across the table from you. Or rather, he looked like a man. He might have been an alien wearing human skin as a disguise, you can never be too sure. He is in a suit and tie, wearing one of those old hats you can't bother to remember the name of that you always see Private Investigators wearing in those old movies before the world was in color.

"It's about time," the man said in a voice as smooth as sandpaper on a gravel road, "how's it hanging, kid?"

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[]Where am I?
[]Who are you?
[]Nice hipster hat, you hipster.