He was perfectly suited to the role of pivovar barman, a belly far too
big for his t-shirt, his arms strong from carrying 4 beers in each hand and a
permascowl on his face that let you know just who was in charge. He
plonked the beer down on my beermat, slopping some of it on to the table. There was no
point in complaining; he was long gone.
The girl Sashayed passed me, a walk far too grandiose for a trip to the
pub toilets. It was designed for a catwalk in Milan, practised for hours in front of a
bedroom mirror.. She reminded me of a long forgotten knot I’d learnt in Scouts,
left over right, right over left; her legs crossing as she walked; thrown
across and out landing far outside the span of her body. She was wasted in here,
but exclusive to here.
A tap on my shoulder and a camera in my face told me that the 3 lads
behind me wanted me to take their photo. A reunion, three friends from school,
two back from pastures, new one left behind in the hometown. The phone
belonged to the local boy whose face shone with happiness that his two friends
were back. The two friends were not so enthusiastic to be back in their teenage
haunts. There were no ‘now take one on mine,’ just one halfhearted ‘make sure
you send it to me’ and one even less enthusiastic ‘hm tag me on Facebook.’
Why is she
smoking? The cigarette looks about as alien in her hands as a gun in the hands
of a toddler.
She looks like a goody two shoes, a butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth type, a straight A student. Everything about her suggests she should be at home with a book not in a pub with a fag. No make up, no hair product, short pleated skirt just too long to be sexy but too short to be stylish. So why? Was it to show here friends she wasn't a teacher's pet? Or to show her dad she was no longer his little girl? It just didn’t add up.
She looks like a goody two shoes, a butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth type, a straight A student. Everything about her suggests she should be at home with a book not in a pub with a fag. No make up, no hair product, short pleated skirt just too long to be sexy but too short to be stylish. So why? Was it to show here friends she wasn't a teacher's pet? Or to show her dad she was no longer his little girl? It just didn’t add up.
The second
barman appeared from nowhere and the first question that sprung to mind was were
they wearing each other's t-shirts? He's slim and his shirt wass like a tent,
engulfing his skinny body. But he too wore a permascowl and threw beer-filled
glasses at startled customers. It must be in the job description.
Maggie’s Milkman, my novel is
Available on
and
The way you describe the details no one else would notice is great:)
ReplyDeleteIn Maggie's Milkman even better ;-)
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