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G Mes slipped through the door with the swagger of a man who’d already decided the night was his. He was a lanky, tattooed figure with a shaved head, a scar slicing across his left cheek, and eyes that glittered with a mix of mischief and menace. He tossed his battered leather jacket onto the nearest stool and shouted over the din, “Lenny! Fill ‘er up, brother! Make it a double—no—make it a triple! I need to drown the whole week in one go!”

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His words grew slurred, his profanity a raw river spilling out of him. “F— you, society! F— you, my mother! F— you, whatever the fuck you think you are!” He turned his back on the alley wall and started pounding his fists into it, his knuckles bruising the brick. The sound echoed down the narrow corridor, a hollow, angry rhythm.