The man sat at a bar. He wore a suit that once could have been called stylish and professional. Not any more. It’s various rips and tears were covered with mismatched patches, and it clearly hadn’t been washed in some time. The man called for a drink. The bartender, uncertain on his client’s ability to pay, gave him the cheapest booze he had.

The man took the glass. He stared at the liquid inside. It was just some beer, designed to get him drunk fast, and nothing else. But for such a poor-quality product, it was so beautiful.

Bubbles danced around in a lake of clear gold, slowly rising to the top, until they fizzled out of existence. How poetic, the man thought. But cheap beer, no matter how pretty, wouldn’t buy him food, or new clothes.

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The man drowned in self-pity, and imagined the bubbles in the glass came from his open mouth. If only he had the courage to turn fantasy into reality.

As the man stared into his drink, his drunken mind remembered better moments. A young boy, full of hope. An old lady, who played the tarot cards. She said he would one day hold gold in his clenched fist and he believed her. Business opportunities, a friend who turned into something more… but it was gone now. Too many mistakes had eaten away at his happiness. From zero to hero was the expression, but he went from hero to zero. The old lady was wrong.

And then the man laughed. For was he not holding, in his hand, a cup of gold? The seer had been right, after all. She had just taken fool’s gold as the real thing. Or maybe she knew what it was, but refrained from speaking. Either way, it didn’t matter. Fool’s gold was the only thing the man could ever possess, now. It’s all the man had.