In the dimly lit underground bar, where secrets mingled with the swirl of people’s broken hearts, three distinct figures walked through the entrance at different times.

Opening hours, around 18: 17 hrs, Mathew Moore arrived. 

The bar was already open, thanks to Britney, one of the handful underpaid waitresses working to keep the place afloat. 

Mathew , 32 year old, possessed a rugged charm that made him look way younger. Standing a solid six feet two with a well-built frame, he is every man's dream, and every girl's reason to drink at Mr Tipsy Bar. 

Britney lit up upon seeing Matt's dreamy eyes on her. Her features restless and erratic, she made a fool of herself.

Britney is new, she blamed her goosebumps on the three days she has worked there. But time works differently on Matt, the old-timers remind Britney that each time she forgets to breath around him.

By 20:03 hrs, the bar was packed and alive. The pungent liquor smell was getting thicker by minute, and the orders were rolling in out of control. 

The clinking of glasses punctuated the pulsating music. 

“Keep them coming!” a voice bellowed from a corner table, and Matt promptly obliged. He gestured for Britney to take the orders, which she did. 

Britney, the petite waitress, weaving her way through the crowded floor, added the man some more drinks.

Later, Britney brought two shots of vodka to the same man. She had been making rounds to that man all night, half past midnight and he was still going strong. 

Britney, shorter than Matt, was in toes to whisper in Matt's ear amid the din of the bar. “That man is a titan!" In that noise, Britney shouted the secret in Matt's ear pointing at the chubby man.

Unaware of the direction this was heading, Matt quirked an eyebrow, replying, “You f…”

Britney promptly cut him off with a scoff, “Eew! Who do you take me for?”

Britney anchored her tense slim body against Matt’s brick-like figure adding, “He should have blacked out by now.”

Britney's palms were wet, her heart pounding, and emotions out of control when that close to Matt. Matt, a narcissist he is, never noticed anything. 

Smirking, Matt retorted, “This is a judgment-free zone, cutie. Let the man drown his sorrows in peace, will you?”

Hours passed, and the neon lights of Mr Tipsy Bar began to flicker as the clock struck two in the morning.

Britney and everybody had already left, but Matt was still around to close up. 

The man, roughly Matt’s age, short, chubby, and impeccably dressed despite his inebriation, remained firmly planted at his table.

Matt recognized him as the same individual who had clamored for more alcohol earlier.

Approaching the still-seated man, Matt gently informed, “We’re closing up, buddy. You’ll have to find somewhere else to soak in your misery.” 

Although gentle, Matt’s voice came out strong and commanding.

The man shot Matt an angry, bleary-eyed glare, his gaze resembling a revolving door as his eyes opened and closed erratically. 

Attempting to rise proved futile as he wobbled unsteadily.

“What the fuck happened to you, dude?” Matt inquired with a hint of sarcasm.

“That bitch!” the man spat out, extending his credit card toward Matt.

Britney charged him for the drinks, but Matt grabbed the card. He flipped it through his long fingers. 

At first, Matt contemplated the idea of double-charging him, but halfway through the transaction, the man uttered words that stirred sympathy within the cold man. 

“I want to kill Charli.” he whispered. 

In the light deprived Mr Tipsy Bar, the heavy-bearded man’s startling revelation hung in the air, a confession so unexpected that it sent ripples through the room.

Matt, resonating with the man’s words raised his face to stare. He withdrew the credit card from the machine. 

Matt thought, why beat a corpse? 

Drew, a local dealer, who had just emerged from the washrooms, couldn’t help but comment dryly, “Shit, now everybody has a Charli to kill?”

He shot a sidelong glance at Matt, a hint of humor dancing in his dark eyes as he asked, “Aren’t you afraid of us, tall boy?”

Matt, no stranger to the darker elements of the city, remained unfazed. He knew there were worse things than dealing with wannabes. 

They hadn’t killed Charli yet, and perhaps they never would. He thought. 

Matt was about to break the solid air when the drunk man, still in a haze of alcohol, retorted, “I’m not talking about a Charlie. I wish he were a man.”

“Crack!”

Matt’s grip on a glass tightened, causing it to shatter in his hand,” Shit!”. 

Drew, weary of the escalating tension, shot Matt an urgent look.

Sigh. 

“You wanna kill Charli too?” Drew asked nonchalantly, lighting a cigarette.

 His lighter, empty inside of the liquid, was reluctant to light. He shook it vigorously, a trick that failed to work.

Matt took a lighter out of his pant’s front pocket and threw it to Drew. He caught it midair ,"terrible throw."

Unable to bear the suspense any longer, Matt looked at the drunk man then to Drew, and asked, “Describe her.”

Taking a whiff of the cigarette, Drew replied with a hint of sarcasm, “Walking trouble? White-haired psycho bitch.”

When he replied, smoke came out of his mouth and nostrils.

Matt, now bleeding from his palm, approached the drunk chubby man with determination. “What about yours?” he demanded.

The inebriated man, struggling to recall the conversation, replied with a perplexed, “What?”

“Charli! Describe her,” Matt reiterated firmly.

The drunk perfectly dressed man smirked as he recalled, “She has this killer ass.”

 Matt continued probing, “Always in a good mood?”

“I want her out of my apartment building, but I’m too frightened to ask her to move out,” the man confessed, his emotions raw. He ignored Matt's question. 

His eyes heavier by the minute, the drunk landlord stopped trying to be awake. The alcohol finally won as he closed his eyes. 

Matt ran out of patience and shook the man like a fruit tree brunch during harvest. A fail that made him froun. 

“We should wake him up!” 

Matt rushed back to the bar area.

Matt's worries were confirmed; they were all talking about the same Charli.

But, who's Charli?

“What are the odds?” Matt exclaimed, referring to the improbable coincidence of discussing the same Charli. He tied his bloody hand using a napkin.

Drew, however, seemed less surprised.

“Who doesn’t want to kill that bitch?” Drew remarked casually.

Matt couldn’t help but add with a smirk, “Sounds to me like he wants to fuck her,” alluding to the landlord’s description of Charli’s 'killer ass'. 

Drew, his eyes dry, “Who doesn’t.”

Matt handed the drunk landlord a glass of milk, hoping it would help counteract the effects of the alcohol. However, it seemed that the liquor had taken firm control of the man.

 Frustration mounting, Matt resorted to slapping him repeatedly, barking, “Wake the heck up!”

Amid the futile attempts to rouse the inebriated man, Matt turned to Drew with a quizzical expression. “So, you fucked her?” he inquired.

To Matt’s surprise, Drew was no longer there. He glanced around the bar, only to find a space where his acquaintance had been just moments before.

“Damn it!” Matt muttered, cursing his bad luck.

Realizing that the landlord was in no condition to provide any answers, Matt decided to leave it there. 

He angrily rolled the intoxicated man over, searching his pockets for a wallet. He found it and extracted a business card.

With a sense of determination, Matt charged him before withdrawing some cash from the register.

His muscular physique made lifting the drunk landlord seem effortless. He hoisted the man as if he were weightless, positioning him next to a city streetlight.

Ignoring the drip falling out of the man's mouth, Matt pushed his body against the streetlight, the man's mouth kissing the cold metal.

Matt swiftly called a cab, instructing the driver to pick up the barely conscious man. 

He handed the driver the cash he had taken from the bar before tossing the drunk landlord into the backseat of the yellow cab with all the grace of a sack of potatoes.

Closing the door, he couldn’t contain his frustration any longer and shouted into the night, “Fucking  Charli!” 

The mysterious name resonated in the darkened streets, a mystery to anyone who didn't know what it meant. More to those who were unlucky enough to meet her.