A long shot captures the entrance of a dingy, dimly lit pool hall. There’s a huge neon sign above the entrance, flickering occasionally, casting a blue hue onto the wet pavement. The worn out sign reads ‘Bubba’s’. It’s a worn-out landmark in an otherwise abandoned part of town. Suddenly, a burly man, hunched over and clad in oversized flannel, stumbles out of the entrance, clutching a half-empty bottle of whiskey. His eyes, like kaleidoscopes, glimmer under the neon light, reflecting countless images as if they were facets of a compound eye. The camera follows his uneven trot down the damp sidewalk, his heavyset figure offsetting the balance of the frame, demonstrating his isolation and potent intoxication.