Owen laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "If you're forty-three, then I actually am twenty-six." Not a complete disagreement with the facts, hopefully, but enough to keep the conversation going. Now he was interested.

With a nod, Owen excused himself with Aziraphale's empty glass and moved back behind the bar. He wasn't a bartender by trade (except that he apparently was, in this strange, strange place), but over the years he had picked up a few tricks and mixes. When he returned, it was with a concoction bearing a sweet, tangy fruit flavour to compliment the liquor without being overly girlish. "Tell me how you like it," he said as he made to sit once again. "As for this place... it does have a depressing atmosphere, doesn't it?"