Aziraphale winces as soon as the sound hits his ears. Oh. Well, whoever's singing is clearly enjoying themselves, at least. And he...supposes the neon lights are...colorful.

The alcohol, though, he'll take it. Still haven't made up for what was lost in the plane and running for their ethereal lives.

Dressed as he is, hands folded behind his back, laying low here is only possible thanks to the lack of functional lights.

"Well...after you."