He swanned slowly up to the bar with a cool swagger and a dirty smirk on his face.
“Could I have a scotch on the rocks?”
“Is that supposed to be a line of some kind?”
He seemed taken aback; it had been a long time since someone had challenged him in any capacity. He quickly recovered, maintaining his cool, and placed his hand firmly on the bar.
“Whatever do you mean by that?”
“Well Hastings is famous for its rocky beaches for one thing.”
Beads of sweat emerged on his scalp. He wiped them away and broke the mould of well-formed hair that covered his scalp. His yellowing teeth were now showing as he struggled to maintain his smile.
“Can I just have my drink please?”
“Sure thing, no need to get fusty, love. It doesn’t suit you.”
She looked behind to see if there were any bottles of scotch left, returning with a bottle of Jack-Daniels.
“That’s not what I ordered.”
“It’s all we have.”
He slammed the table hard, drawing looks from several onlookers.
“I am not drinking that Yankee trash!”
The barmaid gritted her teeth, biting down in a conscious effort to hold her tongue.
“Excuse me, sir, what would you prefer?”
“My order, for one thing.”
The barmaid looked toward one of her colleagues, making a vague nodding motion.
“I am sorry sir, the taps are dry, and we only have fizzy drinks left.”
“A second ago I saw you pour that guy there a pint!”
A burly man appeared behind him and took him by the arm. You could see a flash of fear in his eyes as he was led away from the bar.
“How may I help you Ma’am?”
No comments:
Post a Comment