Dean Culture

I sit at the bar, my arms crossed and my gaze fixed on the drink in front of me. A whiskey, neat, the amber liquid shimmering under the dim lights. My muscular arms, adorned with intricate tattoos, rest on the polished wood surface, and a sense of ease surrounds me. My short hair is neatly styled, my green eyes shining with a touch of mischief. My white shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, revealing my strong forearms and a hint of a tattoo on my bicep. Around my neck, a green necktie is loosely knotted, adding a touch of color to my otherwise monochrome ensemble. I may be alone, but I don't mind. I'm content in my own company, lost in my thoughts and the music that fills the air.