Fitz's Irish Tavern was run by a German man named Fritz Muller, although he told everyone Fitz was short for Fitzgerald. It was an excellent place to get a pint of Guinness, and the food was good Irish-German. Sheppard's pie is forged from bratwurst, boiled cabbage and schnitzel, corned beef and sour kraut. Like every typical Irishman he was, Fritz made mean curry fries and the best donair kabab in the city.

The bar was kitschy enough mishmash of styles and nationalities to be trendy. Fitz's place somehow elevated itself beyond the typical Tampa dive into something approaching existentialism. There were more excellent places around. Hell, I could take an Uber to Saint Petersburg and bounce from site to locale, drowning in primo poontang and overpriced booze. But Fitz's was my spot.

There might have been better places, but Fitz's Irish Tavern was the goat for me. It was inexpensive, had a decent and revolving selection of easy pussy, and frankly, it was a great place to get shit-faced.

I walked over to my regular seat by the bar and waved my fingers vaguely at Fritz, who took that as a sign to pour me my usual pint of Harp. As usual, the jukebox was playing the Irish Rovers. The music would cycle through variations of the Irish Rovers, Drum and Bagpipe music, and Wagner unless someone paid for a song.

Sidney ambled over and sat down next to me. "Yo, how's it hanging, dude."

"Check it out," I said. I took a sip of my Harps and then wiggled my fingers at my beer, ahem magically. "Shit. I thought I bought a Crystal that makes beer magically disappear, but once again, it was just me drinking it." I laughed.

"Hardy, ha-ha," Sidney said. He then reached out and touched my drink, and the glass fogged up, and the beer chilled. Sidney had spent $8,500 buying a Skill Crystal that allowed him to perfectly chill beer magically. Not lemonade, water, coke, or other drink — just beer. It was a mixed blessing, great at bars and picnics but of dubious value anywhere else. At least gave him access to the [System].

"When are you going to take the plunge," said Sidney. "It isn't cheap, but [System] access is totally worth it. You should see the new update. They just added an auction where [Players] can sell things between them for experience. And you get to see your [Stats] and have an [inventory] and everything."

"Sid, I know all that. You keep telling me all about it. I read about it online. Before I quit my job, people talked about it at work. But where are you gonna fucking get experience if you can't kill monsters? And your inventory carries what, two items? Unless that is, you somehow stumble across the fucking [Inventory Expansion] Skill Crystal or buy a magic pouch." I said.

Sid said, "Randy, there is a rumor that at least two dungeons have appeared along the Appalachian Trail. They keep the location secret, but I plan to start my through-hike to find them in March. Worst comes to worst, I train my [Basic] and [Intermediate] walking skills kill."

"Yeah," I said, "I just found out that there is a mondo fucking cottage industry teaching Adventurer Adjacent skills."

"With all your fanboi lurking, you are completely oblivious. I already got [Basic Lock-pick] [Basic Unarmed Combat: Krav Maga] and [Basic Knife Combat]. I'm working on my CPR certificate right now. I am going for a scout build, which is why I'm so stoked about the Appalachian Trail hike and the Survivalism Class I'm taking this November." said Sid.

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Gwen came into the bar. "Two pints of Kilkenny's, and a Guinness Fritz,"

She was dressed in chain mail armor and carried a shield strapped across her back. I didn't know if the equipment was functional. These days, many people dressed in Adventurer cosplay and used the bogus stuff they'd scrounged but were too embarrassed to admit to society for creative anachronism heydays.

"Hey, Gwen," I said. She looked at me and snorted without saying anything. When Fritz finished his pour, she looked over at Sid and said, "Mind helping a girl out."

Sid stammered a bit and then touched all three beers, rendering them magically chilled.

Gwen looked at me once more, snorted in disdain once again, and walked to where her two friends were waiting for her. Sidney regained his courage and said. "I hear those boobs aren't real. I hear she bought a Crystal for perfect size and boyancy."

"Sid, should you be looking at boobs," I asked, "aren't you supposed to be turned on by Burkas. And, for that matter, doesn't the prophet frown on beer. Gwen's boobs aren't magic, Sidney. Remember she had them before the apocalypse. According to Stan, who heard it from a friend, who heard it from someone else, she got a [Skill] for perfect fellatio. From some simp who didn't even score that perfect blowie out of the deal."

"I'd hit that," muttered Sid.

I raised my glass and said, "I'm not a boobs guy, but fuck. Me too. besides Sid, you're married."

"Fuck," replied Sid clinking my glass.

"Randy, really, you should hike the Appalachian with me. Buy a [Crystal], get some [Skills], train some others, and then hike at least part of the Trail with me. Use that insurance money you got a couple months ago for good. Don't just hide away from the world in your condo. You will feel better about yourself if your life has direction."

I sighed. "Fuck, Sid."

I left my car at Fitz's Irish Tavern and took an Uber back to my condo. The Uber driver me off a couple houses away from mine, and then I stumbled and weaved the short distance to my place.

I'd wanted to drive home, but that son of a bitch Sid wisely stole my keys while I wasn't watching. I should get the curse of flatulence and hex him with it. Fuck, Gwen had a nice rack.

Why didn't I let Sid know about my Dungeon? It would be safer with someone I trusted. But the more people who shared a secret… Sid was my bud, and it felt shitty holding out on him. I could trust him, right? Shitty that it seemed that he couldn't trust me. Besides, who knew when a monster would drop a beer that needed to be chilled.

I had a spare set of back door keys under the rock in my bushes. It took me a little bit to find the stone I'd hidden it under in the dark. Many plants made the ultimate sacrifice.

Marigold, my Karen neighbor, popped her head out as I waded through the bushes and stomped one of her plants.

"So you're back, you degenerate. Probably drunk. At least you didn't bring any of your whores home with you,"

Whores? I wish. I hadn't gotten any action in three months. Hadn't cared enough to make an effort.

I'd reformed my ways, though. Been picking myself back up. Pulling my life together. The deep funk I'd been in had been leaving me since the Dungeon appeared. Marigold was right. I promised myself more whores would be in my future. Anything to make Marigold happy.

Marigold must have seen me nodding in agreement with her. So I said, "Fuck you, Marigold."

"I'll let the Condo Board know about your atrocious behavior. You may not care about how your garden looks, but I assure you that the condo board does, and they will hear about it."

Karen was yelling at me. I saw that I'd stomped on one of her hydrangeas. She wasn't supposed to be planting flowers in the front. Each building was supposed to be uniform. Identical.

Maybe I could dungeon-nab one of the goblins from the first room. Throw it in a canvas sack and claim it as loot. Let it rampage through one of Marigold's open windows. No. As fun as it would be for a Karen to be eaten, it would bring the police, and they might search my house. Think it was a Dungeon break and find mine.

I sighed. I just had to be nice to Marigold.

"Marigold, you win, you win. I'll make sure everything looks nice in the morning. Have a pleasant night." I said and walked into my house, slamming the door behind me.