The bar oozed with sound. The band on stage pounded the air with their sounds, the haunting organ backing them up. A man sat at the bar, a wrinkled gray suit covering him, alcohol circulating through his system. His eyes were touching the dirty bar, his head so close he could see through the atoms of the old oak. One hand rested on his head, half out of his sadness, half covering his balding head. There was nothing genuinely wrong with this man, he had a wife, kids, a job. But he was missing the most crucial thing to any person, a will to live. He wasn't sure where things went wrong or how he got to where he is, but ignoring all that, he knew that as soon as the cheap beer was gone form his mug, he would cross the street and jump in the river, the night obscuring him from view, the faulty streetlamp covering for him. His took another sip, saw the clean bottom of the glass, and set it down. He left his wallet on the bar, full of money, identification, and mementos. He walked out, no one noticing, or otherwise not caring. He made his way slowly across the street, and reached the center of the road. Continuing on, now seeing the water, he slowed his pace. This was not something to be rushed. The streetlamp, the one variable he thought he had control of, flickered on. He turned his head to look up at it, and while looking away, he was struck by a car. The car sped away, the red tracks left the only trail leading away. The man lay there, cut down at the bottom of the barrel. The streetlight shone on his lifeless corpse, a red river running out of him. He had no last words, his punctured lung couldn't expel words, and his already dead brain had nothing to say. His vocal cords lay there in limbo, between not caring and no being able.