I love this bar, "Three Men," with its warm light and pleasant atmosphere. The audience here takes my songs well, and they even pay me. Sometimes even in cash, not just drinks. Before each performance, I feel a little nervous, but when they request "Over The Deep Blue Sea" for the third time, the excitement dissipates, and I know it's time to wrap things up. Little but heartfelt applause follows as I leave the stage and settle down at the bar.

Joy, the barmaid, hands me some bills and places a pint of light beer in front of me, even before I've ordered anything.

"This is from a fan," she winks and gestures to the side. I squint my gaze and see a guy sitting a seat away from me, his hand resting on the counter.

Wait a minute... I know this ring... and this ear with a black earring. I fully turn to him - it's the same guy I bumped into today! The one with the yacht (I'm sure he has it!) He doesn't look at me directly, sitting sideways, so I can only see him in profile as he takes a sip of his whiskey. I'm in a daze, not sure how to react. Is the beer poisoned? Why did he buy it for me? To mock my performance, comparing it to a diluted beer?

The guy finally turns to me, raising his eyebrows as if expecting something. Just look at him! All dressed up again, lilac shirt with tucked-up sleeves, a glistening chain around his neck - what a douche.

But as my mother said, she did not raise insolents and cowards. So...

I raise my mug in what I hope looks like a salute and say, "Thank you for such a high praise for my performance!" My tone is intentionally pretentious, and I twist my mouth into a strange smile before setting the mug back on the counter with a loud bang, causing a bit of beer to spill. Joy frowns, and I apologize quickly, using a napkin to clean up the mess.

To my surprise, my neighbor bursts into laughter, then gets up from his seat and walks toward me. "Your songs are quite interesting," he says suddenly.

I stare at him, still taken aback. "I thought you were mute!" I tilt my head to the side.

"You have something against mutes?" he responds.

"Well, no! And you are way too chatty for a mute person!" I retort.

"And you are too unfriendly with your audience! This way you will lose all the fans!" he counters.

"What's it to you?!" I ask, puzzled.

"Just saying," he answers vaguely, finishing his whiskey in one gulp. I took a sip from the mug, feeling my throat dry after the performance. The beer tastes smooth. The company of this dude doesn't exactly annoy me, yet it throws me off balance. I can't just ignore him, but I don't know what to talk about with him. And I don't like owing him anything! So when he asks Joy for another round, I immediately tell her I'll pay for it. I don't need anyone's charity!

The guy grins. "Another pint!" he says to Joy, pointing at me. "My treat!"

What's with a ridiculous competition?!

"Joy, no! I don't need it! Thanks, but no thanks!" I protest, feeling my cheeks burning.

"Take it with you!" he parries.

"They don't serve to-go!" I object. "And besides, I gotta run!"

I take another sip from the mug and get off my chair. With a confident step, I walk towards the door. As I reach for the handle, I hear his voice behind me, "Hey, musician!"

Ignoring him, I quickly go out into the street. I don't want to go home, but it's getting chilly. The sky is rapidly darkening, and the wind chases away the clouds, revealing the stars. I wrap myself in my shirt, regretting that I didn't bring a jacket, and hurriedly head towards the house.

"Hey! Bard!" his voice calls out again. I quicken my pace, but he seems to be catching up with me. "Hey! Wait!"

Hell no! I start running.

"Stop, damn it! Alex, GUITAR!" he shouts out.

And then it dawns on me why running felt so easy. I can't believe I forgot my guitar. I stop. But wait... How does he know my name?! Did Joy tell him?..

I turn around and reluctantly walk back. He's standing there, holding my guitar against his leg. When I reach him, a strange burning awkwardness fills the air.

"You... didn't have to... It'd be fine in the bar..." I manage to say.

"I thought it meant something to you," he retorts sarcastically.

I purse my lips and remain silent. We stand like this for a while, and the chill begins to set in.

"Well, thanks. I'll go," I say, turning away. I don't know why, but it feels like he's watching me for a long time. I only decide to turn around when I reach the pier, but by then, he's nowhere to be seen. What a weirdo! I hope he'll sail away soon, and I won't have to deal with such awkward encounters again. Enough is enough!

I make my way to the top, where our house stands with its lights on. But I don't want to immerse myself in all that noise and chaos. There's a jacket hanging on the stairs' railing; it must be Melinda's. I throw it over my shoulders. I walk around the house and stop by the cliff. Below, the sea splashes, and salty spray reaches even here. I sit on a rock, placing my guitar beside me. The sky is as dark and deep as the sea itself. Above, endless darkness twinkles with bright stars in the distant depths, while below, the restless and indomitable sea rages. And I'm caught between them, a small and insignificant person.

I bury my chilly hands in my pockets and find a pack of cigarettes. Just like this jacket, the cigarettes aren't mine, but I grin... Luck isn't on my side most of the time. I take out a cigarette, twirl it in my hands, then finally place it between my lips. I flick the lighter and light it up.

I take a deep drag and hold back a cough. The wind ruffles my hair and blows the cigarette smoke to the heavy, leaden clouds above. On the other side, a lighthouse lights up, and its powerful searchlight cuts through the darkness. I listen to the surf, like music, like a whisper. And I can't help but wonder if I should just give up everything, hop on the first ship, and sail away somewhere - to finally become someone.

The cigarette burns too quickly in my hand, and I reach for another one. I guess I'm getting old, wanting nothing more than to sit on this cliff, smoke, and listen to the soothing sound of the sea.

I pick up the guitar and begin to strum the strings. I want to play something that could convey the emotions swirling inside me, but neither words nor music seem adequate. I want to believe that what I feel could touch the hearts of millions. But my song is trivial, and my voice is a little hoarse, but still, I'm glad that I can express myself through this. Otherwise, I think, I'd dive off the cliff long ago.