[b][color=gold]Mikhael[/color][/b][hr]
The bar was emptyish. Just a smattering of people, each in their own little corner. Unenthused merriment would aptly describe the noise levels. Rock classics played through a disproportionately good sound system, and if you spent enough time there you'd realise that it's the same playlist in a loop. In all senses of the word, it was a dive bar. 
   Though some might call it "run down" or "shitty", Mikhael would call it "homey". Whether this says something about his tastes or his home is open for interpretation.

[color=gold]"Ehh, Bowmore 12 year neat, please."[/color] he said, sliding a fiver across the counter. This was not enough for the drink, but to the bartender it looked like a twenty, which was more than enough. Unfortunately, someone somewhere down the line would have to account for the missing cash. Mikhael felt bad about that, of course, but sometimes it paid to be selfish. For example, in this instance it paid $8.32. 

He sat at the bar, as this was easiest place to order a new drink from, and sipped the chocolatey whisky, waiting for something to happen.

It started to dry thunderstorm outside. Wasn't that odd.