It was a cold Wednesday night at the office when Jimmy walked into my cubicle.

“You down to grab a few drinks after work today man?” He asked.

“You know what, why not,” I answered.

“Really? Wow, I didn't expect you to say yes.”

“Did you not want me to?”

“No, no,” He said with a dismissive wave, “I’m just surprised is all. You’re always going on and on about how drinking is for the stupid and depressed, so... you know what, never mind that, let’s just get going.”

Some boring small talk about work and a short walk later, we arrived at the bar. There was no sign above the door, and the door itself looked like it had been attacked by a grizzly bear. The hinges were nowhere to be found, and it seemed like it was struggling to stay upright in the doorframe.

Now Jimmy was your average middle-aged salaryman. He wore a three-piece suit, made a decent amount of money, and even had a wife and kids at home. So why on earth was a guy like that drinking in a bar that looked like it was home to the dregs of society?

“Hey Jimmy,” I said skeptically, “Are you sure this is a bar? It looks like the doorway to a crackhouse.”

“The drinks are cheap, and it’s quiet. It’s a great place to hang out if you can get past the... less than optimal appearance.” Jimmy said as he carefully picked up the unhinged door, moved it to the side, and waved me in

Well, it’s not like I’m going to turn back now.

I walked through the doorway and attracted the gazes of a few of the old men at the bar. They looked like the most cliché bar regulars I've ever seen, so I expected them to make some jeers at me, but when Jimmy walked in they grunted in approval and went back to their drinks.

The inside of the bar was no better than the door, with walls that looked like they could collapse at any moment, and mold growing in every corner. I thought I had a pretty good stomach but the stench in the air gave my cheap lunch a run for its money and I had to take a second to gather myself before walking up to the counter.

The bartender looked like he was well into his sixties and had a long scar going across his right eye. He was wiping the inside of a cup with a white rag and he gave me a sideways glance before turning to face me with an annoyed look.

“What can I getcha,” He said coldly, but I was hardly expecting good service.

“Light beer,” I said, putting some cash on the counter. When I saw the man move towards the tap I waved my hand at him, "In a bottle, please.” That earned me a confused look, but the bartender picked up a bottle and slammed it on the counter.

“Here’s yer lite beer ya sissy.” He said back.

I picked up my bottle and glanced over my shoulder towards Jimmy.

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“The usual, Jim?” The bartender asked to which Jimmy responded with a nod.

‘The usual’ was a rum and coke apparently, but just how many times did Jimmy have to come to this bar for him to have a ‘usual’ drink? My opinion of Jimmy was slowly decreasing the more I thought about it, so I shook my head to clear my thoughts and took a swig from my bottle.

“So how’d you find this place anyway?” I asked, “I mean there’s no sign and... I doubt it’s popular enough to find while casually browsing bars.”

“A friend of a friend owns this place,” Jimmy replied. “Never mind that, how you been? We rarely get to talk like this outside of work.”

“I’d like to say I’m doing great, but considering I’m out drinking in a nameless bar on a Wednesday night with you, I guess that would be a lie.”

“Ouch, but that’s what friends are for, right? We’re here to help you drown your sorrows in a cold bottle,” He laughed, “So tell me, what’s weighing so heavily on your mind.”

I paused for a second to gather my thoughts before I took a swig and said, “I just don’t like the way my life is going, I know this is what I chose when I decided to get an office job, but everything seems like a slow grind where nothing changes. I want something fresh, something new, something surprising. You know?”

“I know where you’re coming from. We’re probably going to be doing this job until we die, but it’s honest work, and we can find our own ways to be happy outside of the office,” He raised his glass. “To the middle-class.”

I hesitated, but gave in and raised my bottle, “To the middle-class.”

A few hours and a lot of drinks later, it felt like it was finally time to go home.

So I got up, or at least I tried to, and realized that my legs weren’t completely under my control at the moment. I glanced over at Jimmy, who was having a full-blown conversation with the chair next to him, and decided it was best to not ask for his help.

I placed both of my hands on the bar counter and pushed myself onto my feet, before slumping and falling backward into a soft pillowcase.

Who brought a pillowcase to a bar?

I turned around to face the pillowcase, only to find a giant white man with a huge belly staring daggers at me.

Oh shit.

That was my last thought before a fist came barreling into my chin and I was flung towards the bar counter like a rag doll. By some stroke of reflex I grabbed the last beer bottle I had drunk from and turned back towards the man with an exaggerated swing, breaking it over his head. The mountain of a man just stood there like nothing had happened, then he grabbed me by the shirt and threw me into the door, breaking it as I flew straight through and tumbled out onto the concrete.

When I asked for something new and fresh to happen in my life, this was not what I had in mind.

Just as I was about to lapse into some deep thought about whether or not I jinxed this situation into happening, Jimmy walked out of the bar, limping as he held his stomach. “Jimmy?” I called out. “Jimmy? Are you okay? What the fuck happened to you?”.

“I could ask you the same question." I guess he was right, considering I was lying flat on the pavement. “Why’d you start a fight with that big bastard?” He wheezed and then started coughing out blood onto the pavement.

“We need to get you to a hospital, you're not looking good."

"I'm fine," he said dismissively and reached out a hand toward me. “Here, I’ll help you up, we gotta get home there’s work tomorrow.”

I hesitated, still concerned with my friend's limping and tendency to cough up blood, but I reached out towards his hand and pulled myself onto my feet. He then gave me a baffled look and stuttered out, “D-d-dude, you’re bleeding!”

I looked down and grimaced when I saw the front of my shirt covered in blood and a piece of the door sticking out of my stomach. I felt weak in my knees at the sight, and the whole world seemed to spin around me as I fell to the ground again.

I’m cold, really cold, and weak. Is this what it feels like to die?

I struggled to keep my eyes open while Jimmy searched through his pockets with the finesse of a drunk idiot. I couldn't stop myself from chuckling at the sight, and I felt what little was left of my strength fade away as everything around me went black.