You step through the door, shaking the snow off your hat and thick coat, and give the room a quick once over while you're doing so. You try to be sneaky about it; you don't want the scum smeared all over this dive-bar to notice how afraid you are. Toothless, scraggly beards, thinning hair, and dark, beady eyes; that's the default template for anyone in this place. It reeks of month-old spilled beer, vomit, and only God knows what else. And only God knows why you are here, because you are too ashamed to admit it to even yourself.
You take shaky steps up to the bartender, a man with wood teeth, two peg legs, and a dead glass eye that always seems to be looking to the left, no matter what. You think about sitting on one of the gnarled and scarred stools, but are too afraid to move. The bartender notices you, and asks what you want.
You take a breath, then whisper to him. He doesn't hear you, so you lean in and repeat, "I'm here... I'm here for Dempsey."
The bartender leers at you, then half growls/half whistles that Dempsey is where he always is, and points to an old beat-up door in a dark corner. You nod your thanks, then head to the door.
You slowly push it open, and there he is. Sitting at a round table with only one other chair, wearing his beaten top hat, dirty vest, striped chambray, wrapped in a long black coat, his dusty boot heels scraping the dirty floor as he rocks himself in his chair. On the table is a fondue pot and two tea cups, and he takes one now, filling it to the brim with melted cheese, and downs it in one shot. He then peers at you through his monocle, and motions to the chair in front of him, "So, you've returned." He flashes you a smile that makes you think of a rusty hack-saw.
Trembling, you take a seat, and try not to make contact with his piss-yellow eyes. He draws a ragged breath, then speaks, "After everything that happened last time?" He lets loose a laugh that sounds like a pig with asthma getting strangled, then continues when he sees your nod, "Tell ya what, I'll go easy on ya tonight. I'll cut back on the depravity, give you a chance to unwind a bit." He pushes you a tea cup filled with cheese, and you take it with shaking hands, lapping at it in both a happy and ashamed manner.
He leans back, and folds his hands in his lap, "This be a tale of unrequited love, of loneliness, of hidden, shameful desires, and the consequences of not keeping them in check. A tale of not fitting in, a tale of life turning on you, and standing up to it. About asking 'just what does it mean to grow up?'"
He leans back over the table, and his sneer excites you. He asks, "Are you ready?"
You nod excitedly, and greedily gulp at your second cup of scalding cheese...