There comes a point when you have to give up and accept life wants you to go to a bar. Joss had reached that point.
First one of her classmates had tried to drag her to a bar - she'd brushed her off to go running with one of her flatmates. Another of her flatmates had tried to drag her to a bar - she'd shrugged him off with excuses about homework.
But her room was apparently a bar today. She sighs, presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, and shakes her head. Her gut isn't flagging this up as dangerous.
Bar it is then. She pats her pockets down to find her purse and ID, and steps into the room, pushing the door most of the way closed behind her and walks over to the bar itself. A napkin appears on the surface introducing Bar, and asking if she'd like a drink. Joss pulls out her bank card and her ID and orders a beer, and asks for any reading material.
She stares at the catalogue in mute shock. Well. She's certainly not going to want for reading material. She picks a run-of-the-mill crime thriller and settles on a barstool to read.
