It seemed impossible that she would hear the drip drip of rainwater falling into the white bucket sitting unceremoniously on the floor above the noise in the room, but she did. It was the first thing she noticed when she pushed open the door to the second story of the local independent bar. She paused, wondering if the bouncer downstairs had misdirected her on purpose. The venue couldn’t seem more alienating if it tried.

The room was swathed in orange and blue lighting, eerie and surreal. There was some generic billboard music playing over the speakers, adding to the feeling of cacophony. She made her way to the bar and asked about the beers on tap, speaking a little too loudly in order to be heard over the radio, in order to mask the uncertainty that was creeping into her mind.

She left her beer sitting on a table in the corner of the room and her purse on the chair behind it, against all the safety rules she had ever been taught, to seek the refuge of the bathroom. The crowd that was chatting amiably on the set of couches beside her table seemed to be the opening act; surely no one would try anything this close to them?

Posters for the headlining band she had come to see tonight adorned the hallway leading to the dimly-lit bathroom. Even that seemed unsettling, somehow. The doors of the stalls, in turn, boasted an advertisement for an avant-garde play featuring the most famous person to come out of this tiny colllege town.

The shot of the homegrown actress on the oversaturated, noir-styled poster showed the A-lister at her fiercest, strong jaw pushed out in defiance and hooded eyes looking down arrogantly at the on-looker. Her tight curls faded into black on the edges of the poster, as though the actress herself were disappearing into the looming darkness.

-

When she returned to her seat at the corner table of the pub, she wondered briefly whether she should’ve thrown her jacket over her drink to make sure it wasn’t disturbed. Like that wouldn’t have made her feel even more ridiculous than she already did. She wrapped her hands around her beer and sipped, pretending to herself despite heaps of scientific evidence that she would have been able to taste any trace of rohypnol that may or may not have found its way into her drink in her absence.

Three of the men on the couch beside her got up, ostensibly to go outside to smoke. One more stood up and walked across the room to tune his instrument. The lone band-member remaining on the couch leaned back into his seat and looked around in boredom.

She started when he caught her eye and sat up straighter, embarrassed at having been caught watching him. He winked good-naturedly and ran a hand through his mop of curly hair and she blushed, despite herself. She looked away quickly and took another sip of her drink, pretending to be very interested in her cellphone. It seemed to her that he was laughing lightly, but she didn’t dare look in his direction again.