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Summary
The neon lights never seemed to quiet. The buzzing intruded into Sanji’s mind, as though a beehive had found a home inside of his head.
Every night was the same. Serve some weird goths some booze and greasy bar food that was probably too good for their tastebuds, clean their glasses, and give Robin the tip jar to distribute to the staff, though not after sneaking a couple bills into his coat pocket. He used to give her the whole damn thing, but after noticing that the only person to get any coins into the jar had been himself, and after his landlord raised the rent, he figured God would forgive a little theft. Probably.