824 Sycamore Drive. Sebastian hated the address, and like noticing a buzzing fly circling your head, noticing it made him uncomfortable and annoyed. He had barely lived here a week when the name had soured for him. Five months later, his mood hadn’t changed. His vibrant, cherry red Tesla he once bragged about purred slowly into the split driveway, a strange juxtaposition to the dreary neighborhood around him. Weeds grew with wild ambition, the street was covered in black tar scars, and one need not look far if you require broken grass or dead brush across the landscape. The wind was bitter and coarse, and the rain smelled sour instead of sweat. At $1537 a month, it was a steal. Money had always been the last thing on his mind until now. He had thought this miserable abode was only temporary, that it would grow on him, but nothing had changed. 

He had arrived home from the bank at 5:32pm, and the night was still young for booze and television. His plush green LaZboy, a relic from better times, sat waiting for him in his living room, murmuring soothingly as it tempted him to relax and float away in a Sopranos marathon. 

“I’ll be there soon,” he grunted, and shuffled into the kitchen to first fix a drink. 

He opened his fridge, horrifically spartan, and grabbed two of the three cold cheap beers still left for him. He loosened the tight red and blue tie, once a gift from Susie, and set down the beers with a clink to browse his options for dinner. Tonight’s menu presented itself as a Chicken Alfredo with Broccoli or a Loaded Mac N Cheese, both house favorites of his. He had eaten each twice already this week, but now couldn’t decide which he had liked better. Both times he had drank the beer beforehand. His wife had used to make a wonderful Chicken Alfredo, slathered in creamy homemade sauce with a dash of garlic and love, and always served in the large decorative bowls Aunt Ester had bought them on their wedding day. The Mac N Cheese however, served no reminders of divorce, but he hadn’t decided if he should wallow in self pity or not tonight. He looked from his loose tie to the Mac N Cheese to the Chicken Alfredo and back again, his eyes flickering between the triangle as he pondered tonights fate. His eyes lingered on the tie for a moment longer than the others. He was sick of microwaved dinners. After a quick shave and shower, he threw on his old black jacket (tight, but still fitting) and perfumed some cologne he hadn’t worn in months. He left by 6:07pm.

It was dark by the time he arrived at his old stomping grounds, a fine restaurant in downtown San Diego dubbed “Asalico’s” in radiant blue cursive. Sebastian slid a hand through his thinning black hair and went inside to admire the bar he once called home. The old regulars had long since passed on or married like he had, and now with kids to watch their chairs sat occupied by strange faces. At a glance, he was alone in a world he had become royalty in. Perhaps someone might recognize me he thought, swaggering into the posh restaurant like he had eighty four times before. The bar had evolved since his day, and beautiful stone adorned the once steel bar while luscious green plants swayed where lights used to hang. As he walked towards his old stool, the luxurious smell of juicy steak and 10 year brandys hypnotized his mind, and his mouth watered at the thought of something fresh and actually cooked rather than warmed. A dish with heart, as his wife used to say.

Asalico’s was packed this evening, and at the heat of the rush he had to wait five minutes to regain his old throne. His heart fluttered as he sat down on the third seat from the right, and for the first time in weeks he cracked a smile at the familiar feeling. He chuckled as he adjusted his glasses and gazed at the menu, his stomach rumbling as he skipped from section to section, each item looking more heaven-sent than the last. 

“Sea Bass! Well I’ll be damned,” called a hearty voice from behind him. “What brings you crawling back?”

Sebastian turned to see a grinning man in his late fifties, gut straining against a purple undershirt and elegant black jacket. His gray hair was cropped short, and a bushy gray mustache to match adorned his smile with ease. His eyes twinkled in the light, perhaps from his expensive golden chain or watch, but likely due to the delight of meeting an old friend one last time. 

“Marcus? Holy hell man, what are the odds! I just got bored of sitting at home and came to see how the place was holding up. Before you harass with me with the latest let me buy a drink off ya real quick,” he said flagging over the petite young bartender. 

“Please Sea Bass, it’s on the house,” said Marcus as he motioned to the girl. “You’re family, this is for old time’s sake.”

“I appreciate that more than you know,” Sebastian grinned. “In that case get me a Mai Tai you old drunk.”

He chuckled. “If you insist. Helen! Two Rojo’s for this fine gentleman here. Remember that order though, it’ll haunt ya eventually.”

“And the sirloin, well done, with mashed potatoes!” he called energetically. 

The bartender laughed and hurried away to fetch the drinks. She hadn’t seen Mr. Ascilio this happy in months. She made a mental note that the man with glasses was a cue to act busy.

“So how’ve you been Marcus? How’s the place doing? I see you guys renovated since I’ve last been here.”

“You must have been out of it awhile, we did this back in ‘15,” he said frowning. “Place has been doing great though, lots of hungry customers and new faces to feed. How’s the family been?”

Sebastian nodded thanks to Helen as she set down his drink and slowly took a sip of the blood red Mai Tai. It was tangy and sweet as candy in his throat parched with cheap beer and macaroni. “Great,” he lied. “Things have been great at home.”

“Glad to hear. Say, what grade is Susie in now?”

Sebastian paused as he tried to remember. “Third, I think.”

Marcus laughed. “You think?”

“Well, it’s so hard watching her grow up I guess it’s just hard to accept,” he chuckled awkwardly.

Marcus nodded, concerned for his old friend. As a regular customer who had told him all his fears and secrets when he was drunk, and having heard them eighty four times, he could tell when Sebastian was lying, and now was definitely one of those times. From meeting his wife, to flirting with the lovely Rebecca Harris every night at this bar, to his pained announcement he was having a little girl and would be absent from their Saturday Night Shenanigans, Sebastian was an open book, and slowly connected the dots as they chatted the night away.

Right around his 4th Captain n’ Coke and as the last dredge of mashed potatoes vanished from the plate (this was his second, as he scarfed the first down as if starving), Marcus decided to throw him a curveball.

“I can tell something ain’t right you Sea Bass. What’s got you down?”

Sebastian stopped mid chuckle and gulped as he adjusted his collar. The whole night he had been happy for the first time in awhile, for once he had a friend who wouldn’t judge him for the affair, and he didn’t want that to change. With a deep breath he came clean.

“I was sick of microwaved dinners.”