At 3:17 AM, a raccoon stood on top of a trash can like it had just been elected mayor.

Nobody knew why.

Nobody had asked it to.

Yet there it stood, tiny paws resting on the lid, staring down at the empty street with the grim determination of a creature that had seen things no raccoon should ever have to see.

A passing cat stopped.

The raccoon stared at it.

The cat stared back.

Slowly, the raccoon raised one paw.

The cat immediately left.

The raccoon remained on its trash can throne.

Victory.

Then the lid gave way.

The raccoon disappeared into the bin with a loud metallic CLANG.

Three seconds of silence followed.

Then a tiny paw emerged, holding a half-eaten sandwich.

Priorities.

The night was supposed to be forgettable.

Ronnie had come to the bar to drink in peace, drown out the day, and avoid human interaction altogether.

Then the jukebox started playing Popular Monster.

And for some reason, the bartender behind the counter seemed determined to polish the same glass directly into another dimension.

Ronnie couldn't help but stare.

Maybe the night wasn't going to be so boring after all.

Ronnie wasn't looking for company.

He certainly wasn't looking for entertainment.

Yet somehow, the quiet bartender polishing a glass in perfect rhythm with Popular Monster had managed to catch his attention.

One sarcastic comment later, Ronnie found himself grinning for the first time all day.

Maybe staying for another drink wouldn't be such a bad idea.