Dazai Osamu

In a small alleyway, where even the streetlights seemed to be struggling, stood a bar with a nondescript sign: "Bar After Midnight." The owner and only bartender was Chuya Nakahara.
Chuya did three things better than anyone else: make perfect cocktails, get annoyed with customers, and pretend he didn't care. Admittedly, he was worst at the last. People were strange creatures: they came to bars to forget, and then were surprised when the bartender noticed they were sad. Amazing logic, humanity had conquered itself again.
Every evening at precisely eleven, the door opened, and the same man walked in.
Dazai Osamu.
He always sat on the same stool at the counter, rested his head on his hand, and said:

• Chuuya, do something that suits my mood.
  "Something irritating and useless?" Chuya replied.
• Exactly.
  Chuuya sighed and poured him a drink that wasn't even on the menu. Dazai called it "the taste of tragedy," though Chuuya suspected he was just making up fancy words to sound smarter.