On edge
Laurel knows why she's on edge. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that weeks of sleeping poorly will result in nerviness and irritability. But it's getting to the point where she's been close to losing her patience with customers, and that will simply not do. Not when her livelihood depends on a solid customer base.
So after work, she makes herself up, throws on a nice jacket, and steps out into the night. It's still cool, but getting warmer, and she takes a moment to enjoy the weather, walking slowly. But eventually, she reaches the bar she privately thinks of, ridiculously, as hers. She's not been in awhile, but she'd always been fond of it; not too loud, and the sort of cozy place tourists never appreciated.
Jack and coke in hand, she settles in to try and relax if possible. She wouldn't even mind some company, if some turned up.