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by June
Rated: 13+ · Draft · Relationship · #1777195
So a guy walks into a bar... A rough-cut draft of a brainstorm sorts. Criticism?
Drunk laughter filled the air, thick with the homely scents of alcohol and people lounging around heavy wooden tables.A tall man pushed the doors through and paused for just a moment , and carving a deep stride to the bar descended upon a worn stool settling his eyes on the wall of alcohol before him. A prim waitress slid across the bar to face him, he motioned towards a row of pumps. This simple action of anything-just-get-me-drunk seems to be universally catered to and endorsed, and for good reason. Time and time again, men and women alike just need to get a bit smashed.

The cute waitress squinted trying to unpack  this man as all bar staff do, infact there is little else too do in the drug-catering, it wasn't that he wore a small alligator for a cravat it was just, perhaps, it was simply the way he sat.  Tilting the pint-glass she once more fell upon her pondering. He was good looking to be sure, but there was familiarity there too.
         The tall, dark haired stranger came upon another, equally as common, pub-ism. Why can a man not get a pint in peace without someone staring at you, or in this case a bar lady making strange faces at me (by this time the landlord lady's forehead was wrinkling with curiosity). In fact as the modern mans church its damn impossible to 'get a pint' without being assessed in almost every sense of the word possible. For millennia these sacred meeting have been upheld by the working class with vigour and an austere sense of duty, marching with a surly determinism into tomorrow...
         “You are new”

The waitress had reappeared before the man with unnatural speed. Catching the thought struck man sideways, spurring both mild terror and the wheel of speech into action resulting in, in which most cases it does, a dumb answer;
         “yes”

I literally think anything would have been better, “yes”? Really? You could've threatened to make roadkill of her cat and it would've had less of an uninspired, bland  response.
         Raising the brew to his lips and swallowing a respectable draught. He tried to avoid her inquisitive eyes without appearing rude, but all this really did was look like he was a guy in a pub, with a beer having an optical seizure.
         The doors swung open spilling a group of club goers into the establishment, pre-drinks after pre-drinks. The men craning to find a pew free, the women tossing their hair but all moving in some quasi conscious route to the back.
         Hearing jingling glasses mr. tall Turned,and abruptly burst out laughing into his pint. half choking and half leaning over the beer mats. He had turned to find the cute, annoying lady in a sort of crab like pose behind the bar. Her bright eyes had become huge, the colour running from her features (though at that point it might have been the barrels reflection).
         
“Shhh! Stop it!” She urged.

He strafed down to where her scuttlings had taken her, and asked, with complete sincerity;

“Is there a reason for the whole scared sumo thing?” And it was sincere, it was a rather good rendition of a terrorfied sumo.
“Its my ex! The fuck face just walked in”
© Copyright 2011 June (muffinss at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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