Desert of cloth

A.N. what should I do at the end of the story? How should it continue

I walked over the dunes of shredded fabric, ripped apart by fierce winds and the ragged shoes of those who have also walked through the desert. I walked for miles. There were no signs of life. The only landmarks I came across was the occasional dead tree. If anyone else had passed through here, there was no way to tell. As I moved on, the hills became taller, the valleys became deeper and I felt as though the desert would never end. I reached the top of each mountainous hill, looked out across the desert. And kept walking
(something happens)
The city was strangely alive, though every aspect of the world it inhabited was dead. It's people wrapped in coarse, worn cloth to protect them from the harsh winds so that all you could see was their eyes, their hands, their feet. I felt strange, wearing only a faded overcoat and a pair of torn pants though, I did not draw their attention. I entered the flow of cloth dwellers and made my way through the crowded streets until I saw a structure that looked like it might have something to eat, something to drink. The sign hanging over the doorway was was written what didn’t look like writing at all but instead deep interlocking gashes in the wood that showed no comprehensible pattern or reason. I was in luck. The building I stumbled into was indeed a bar; however, I had no idea if I could even purchase any of the drinks here let alone force them down my throat. The bar was filled with patrons, . That should usually have been a sign that the food is alright but the constant burning sensation in my nostrils told me otherwise. Regardless, I walked up to the bar and, in a desperate effort to buy myself a drink, put all the money I had in front of what I assumed was the bartender. I only had a few dollars and I was certain that he had never seen the currency I laid in front of him but he went on and said a few words that sounded enough like a list of drinks. I rolled each possible beverage around in my head for a while and eliminated ones that sounded too foreign. I finally made my decision and let out a few syllables that sounded enough like drink I was ordering. To my surprise, the bartender turned around and filled a glass with water. The bartender then opened a cabinet to his right and then proceeded to add elements from a variety of different bottles and jars until the result was a liquid that looked like the bartender has filled a glass with mud from the bottom of a lake. My thirst got the best of me and I chose to stay. I watched as he slid the glass in front of me and watched me. I raised the drink to my lips and let the liquid flow into my mouth. Swallowing it was comparable only to having a large number of snakes crawl down my throat at once. My mouth went numb and soon that numbness spread across my face, down my throat, into my eyes.