The Diamond Tavern had seen better days. It looked dingy and drab. Times were hard. The nicotine infused paint peeling from the walls, revealing damp dark patches. The old, torn upholstery, threadbare carpet and cigarette burns that scarred the tables. The air smelled musty.

Sam slumped on the stool, head resting upon the keys of the untuned piano. Bobbie had played at the tavern for the past 15 years, he was a musical genius and a good friend but he'd had to let him go tonight. It had been so hard but he couldn't afford to pay him any longer. He remembered that he hadn't locked up but ... what the hell.

He took a slug from the bottle of scotch in his hand and thought about better days when the tavern was busy every night and the tills were ringing. The sparkling chandeliers and plush decor, big flashy neon sign above the entrance that now hung down, broken and corpselike clinging on by one wire. He'd employed smart waiters and bar staff, beautiful, sexy waitresses, in fact he'd married one, Patsy. She was a real looker. A tall, leggy redhead with green eyes but she took off when the going got tough, taking with her the contents of the safe and anything else she could get her hands on.

Suddenly the door opened and two scruffy youths walked in. Bob propped himself up to take a better look.
"Hand over the money", one of them said. Bob laughed and turned his pockets inside out. The youth produced a knife and pointed it at him while the other one went over to the empty till and yanked the drawer open.
Sam laughed even more and pulled out the gun that he kept in the piano stool drawer.

The youth backed away, looking stunned as Sam, with one swift movement put the gun to his own temple and pulled the trigger.