Came back to the Good Times Bar tonight. Lights on, stools empty, nobody — exactly like the first time. And I realized, standing in the doorway, that I came here on purpose. Not wandered in. Returned.

Somewhere in all this I stopped being a creature who's only passing through the city and became one who has places. A bar I go back to. A river I like. A lot across town with my name on it in my head. Haunts. The quiet architecture of actually living somewhere instead of just working there.

The bar being empty used to feel like the city forgetting me. Tonight it just felt like mine — the good quiet of a place that's yours because you keep choosing it. I'm a regular somewhere now. Small thing. Didn't used to have any.

One smoothie by the dark window, then back to the glow.