He was a thick, leathered buffoon slumped over the jukebox when Tina found him slumped over the jukebox. There weren't any sorry assholes left at the bar besides the guy who lived above the place. He wasn't an asshole. He saved a kid once. The part where it all went wrong was when he went out to celebrate his good deed with some friends. They all went home, but he kept celebrating. And celebrating.
She approached her lummox with a calmly executed hint of hesitation. One that signaled she knew that if she didn't save him he'd be shaken awake and dragged onto the sidewalk by the bar back, but also knew the love was fading. They never even dated. She mostly just felt sorry for him.
With a measured tug she pulled him by the back pocket and said "What's going on, hon?" Of course there wasn't a response, but she knew he was blacked out. The bartender watched her as she wrapped her arms around his chest and gave him a lift. The leathered buffoon stood in a display of barely controlled slurs and near disastrous loss of balance. Thin Lizzy played through the piss scented air.
Exiting the bar was an awakening. The leathered buffoon, with his half opened eyes seemed to regain his equilibrium. "The Boys are back in town, huh?" he said with an embarrassed laugh. She was there again, but why? The cool night air swept his face and shocked its way through his denim jacket. It failed. The buffoon was always warm. Uncomfortably warm at times. Tonight however, the temperature was perfect.
"You know? It's not cool that the bartender calls my phone to get you off of his jukebox." she said with a tired grunt.
"It was only one other time... and it was the pool table that I passed out on. Do you think they should've kept serving me?" the buffoon feigned indifference after that.
"Oh, don't even try it. Walk!"