It took Ron a lot longer to walk out of the pub than it had to walk in. He refused to appear drunk, which he'd have to steady himself before each and every step, to let it appear confident, assertive. Patient.
What it really made him look like was mildly lost between where he was, and where he wanted to go.
Ron paused at the doorway, shrugging on his robe and reaching for his deluminator. He never used it on the walks back to his lodgings, but instead held onto it as some sort of anchor - as long has he had it in hand, he'd be safe. He'd be fine. "No one should have to live like this." He mumbled, and opened the heavy oak door to the outside.