The lights of the Seattle skyline suddenly ignite as the city comes alive with the sounds and sights of night. In a run-down bar, a lone man sits beneath the hum of a fluorescent overhead light as he holds his whiskey in shaky hands.
The man is an enigma. He appears at The Spade habitually at 10 PM and leaves just before dawn, ordering the same refreshment each time, a tall glass of Irish whiskey. Never speaking words far from “The usual…” or the occasional grunt or whisper, he is a shadow to everyone. To the passerby, this man is just a nobody. He is merely a bum who went down on his luck and turned to the bottle like many before him. To those who know, however, the man’s name is Robert Elm, and he has a story to tell.