Galen’s cigarette dimmed as his boozy brain struggled to calculate the tip. Julie, drunk and already wearing her jacket, wobbled as she waited on spiked heels. Her barbs at dinner now the usual course. Galen ignored it. No point in fighting. The pen slipped from his greasy fingers and reaching for it, he noticed his shoes—scuffed and dull. The original shine just a memory. So much promise at the beginning. He stood, slipped into his coat, and followed a shivering Julie into the cold night. Galen looked up at the stars hanging in the air. All alone in the dark.