"How did it start again?"
The musician strummed his instrument. The sound was just slightly off. A mistake just major enough to sound bad, but just minor enough to be annoying.
The bar was small. It was a hidden little place. Business was bad enough for the bartender to let the musician play away in his corner.
The business man walked it. He smelled of cheap perfume, and his clothes were wrinkled. He carried an empty briefcase that had never truly been used. Not by him, at least.
"Give me something cheap." That was always the business man's request. It never changed.
The bartender then gave him a simple beer. It technically wasn't an item they served, but they always had some on hand.
The business man sipped his drink slowly, and the bartender cleaned an already clean glass.
The tv in the corner of the bar hummed with static. It never worked a single time. No news or sports ever touched its screen. Only static could ever be seen on it.
The musician strummed another off key chord, before once again asking "how did it start again?"
A new man entered the bar again. It was a kid who smelled of cheap cigarettes. His eyes lacked any light as he sat down at a table.
He sat there waiting for service, and would continue sitting there until he received some. Unfortunately, this bar did not offer any service.
The business man finished his beer before asking for another. The bartender gave him a new beer before taking the empty bottle. The bartender put the bottle on a pile of empty bottles. There used to be a trash can there, but it was gone now.
The bar was made of something that looked like wood. It felt like wood and smelled like wood, but everyone knew it wasn't wood. It couldn't be wood.
The light at the bar flickered for an instant before regaining stability. The lights always stayed on, even when no one was at the bar. No one wanted to risk learning what would happen if those lights ever turned off. They may end up never turning on again.
Again, the musician strummed his out of tune instrument, before asking, "how did it start again?"
The bar's door once again swung open. A detective in a trench coat walked in. The detective was defective, just like everything else in the bar.
The detective went to a corner of the bar. A number of cigarette butts littered the floor of this corner, and another was about to join them.
The kid still waited for a server, the bartender still cleaned a clean glass, and the business man still sipped his beer.
At last, the musician made another horrible sound with his little toy before asking "how will it end?"
The business got up from the bar. He left his beer half full. He would finish it next time.
The business man left the bar through the door behind it. No one ever used the same door to leave the bar that they used to enter it. It was one of the few rules of the bar, and no one could break the bar's rules.
The detective threw a cigarette butt onto the floor before lighting a new one. He had never smoked a cigarette before, but just lighting one and throwing it onto the floor gave him comfort. But that's just how anyone would feel when doing something they had to.
The bartender kept cleaning the same clean glass he always did. He grabbed the half empty beer to empty it.
The bar didn't have a sink. It didn't need one. The glasses never got used, and it didn't have a bathroom. Even if it did, it would probably never be used.
The musician played another chord, this one closer to correct. He was learning, but he would forget what he learned today before he came in tomorrow. The question he asked this time was "doesn't it repeat around this part?"
The kid got up from his table. He hadn't been served all night. Tonight wasn't the night he'd be served. He'd just have to come back tomorrow to try again.
The floors of the bar were sticky. They've never been not sticky. That was just how they were. At least they were clean.
A man on the street tried to enter the bar, but he couldn't get in. He wasn't someone the bar let in. Strangers like that sometimes tried to get into the bar. They were the only thing that were ever different.
The bartender kept cleaning the already clean glass. The cloth he used was old. It was thin in a few parts, but it would always be usable. It always had to be usable. It was the only cloth in the whole bar.
The detective lit another cigarette. This was his third. He'd be allowed to leave after this.
The musician played another chord. It was almost a proper chord, and it didn't sound that bad. "Does this even end?"
The detective's final cigarette was reduced to its final form. It was placed on the floor, and the detective finally made his way out of the bar.
The bar didn't have any windows. It didn't like being looked at from the outside. The only thing that could see inside of the bar other than its customers was the bar itself. The little camera in the corner was always watching.
A slight breeze went through the bar. It was an impossible breeze, but it happened every night. It made the empty bottles of whisky whistle as it passed by.
The musician played his final chord. It was a perfect chord without any mistakes, but it still wasn't good enough for the bar. He put his instrument down before looking up and asking "why is it like this?"
The bartender looked down at the glass he was cleaning. He put it down before taking his leave. He was always the second to last to leave. He wasn't needed any more tonight.
The musician sighed deeply. "How did this start, again?"
He looked at the camera and the tv. He looked at the bar and the table. He looked at the pile of beers and the litter of cigarettes. He sighed a final time before taking his leave. He left his instrument. He wouldn't need it. It only ever made a sound in the bar.
The door closed. The bar was silent. It really always had been. Any noise that was ever made in it was insignificant. It would be heard by no one, not even itself.
How did it start? Does it repeat? Will it end? Why is it like this? All of those questions were left behind in the bar. They would be repeated tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that.
It had no start, and it had no end. It will repeat as many times as it needs to, and the point can't be understood. But these answers didn't really matter. They were merely a distraction from the real question that would never be asked.
For that question cannot be asked, and no answer can be provided