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A man has a drink and gets angry

A man has a drink and gets angry.


Finishing my fourth can of beer so as to save some pennies as I head to the pub, I crush the final can and throw it in the bin, but the plastic rings I throw onto the floor in the hope I see a pigeon caught in it on tomorrow’s walk. I hate them fucking things, always shitting on my car. I know four cans might seem a lot for a walk but it's not like that, I have it all worked out. I drink the first two at home while I watch my football bets for the day lose by the time early kickoff is over.

That usually disappoints me well into my third can and so I begin the walk to the pub. 20 minutes long but takes me 40, I finish the third can as I approach the halfway bench to crack open the fourth. The sky’s are British grey, the women walking by are British fat and the British skies begin to rain on the already wet floor filling up the puddle for the young British twats to drive through splashing me on the bench as I drink the fourth. Thankfully the old pub is full of classics much like myself, longing for some old and quiet company and a proper fire to dry me. I head off in the drizzle watching the fat overweight but attractive arse wobble in front of me, comforted by the thought that she wouldn’t let an old perv like me close to her. She turns around, gives me a foul glance as I can't help but try to catch a glimpse of her cleavage and she crosses the road, confirming my suspicion. I’m an old fart. Sullied and outside the pub you are now all caught up, beer in the bin, plastic ring on the floor. Fuck I hate pigeons, Choke on it. I have a buzz and a second buzz hits me on my approach to the front door. Pint’s are so much better than cans… Opening the front door a little cunt runs out straight into my bad leg. The pain whenever it gets as much as knocked is like whacking your funny bone violently on cold steel. That little kid will never have any idea what it’s like to have machinery fall on your leg down the mines. The pain obliterates my buzz as the kids father follows close behind telling me to “watch myself” 20 years ago I would have had him against the wall for that. I ignore it, hobble past and into the bar. None of the old folk are in yet, probably still down the club as they wouldn’t have stupidly bet on the early kick off. Typically the fire isn’t going so sitting in wet pants it is. The old bricks are a comfort. The dim lamps on the wall provide warmth to the environment. There's an attractive woman sitting at my corner table with another kid. No doubt the same family as the little fuck that ran into my leg. But I yearn for a pint only to be met with a fresh face behind the bar. Where the fuck is Shane, he always pulled a good pint. “Stella please” “One stella for the sir! Have you got any I.d!?” Cheeky fuck thinks hes funny, I don’t come here for bar theatrics “Good one, stella… please” Not that he deserves manners after that. He pours the pint hardly tilting the glass, hands me it with a foam two inches thick. I’d ask him for a flake but it’s too fitting for his humour and I just want to quench my thirst and reclaim my buzz. Yada yada I paid for my drink and I am forced to take a different table. Right by the window just in time to have the afternoon sun in my eyes.

I loved the corner table because it had a chair with padding on the bottom and I could position my leg correctly. Forced on a hard chair I take my seat, throw the foam off the top of my drink and down half the pint in one go, resting it on the table as it bows and tilts to the weight of my pint like someone with one leg shorter than the other. Unable to get comfy on my bony arse my leg twangs in pain as the sun shines in my eyes I lift my drink forcing the table back on its long leg no longer under the weight of my pint the short leg whacks my bad knee sending another pain shooting up my leg, I swear it even made my balls ache as the pain is met by a sickness in my stomach. I neck the rest of my beer in vain attempt to cure my affliction, getting up I hobble over to the bar in agony ready for the young barmans next joke…

“Stella. Please, less foam this time ay?” “Got a throat drier than Ghandi’s slipper do we? Go easy old timer! It’s my duty to make sure you get home safe and sound to your wife” My wife’s dead you cheeky cunt “I'm sure she won’t mind” “One Stella, no foam!” He pours it well until he places it down on the bar spilling some. Yada yada, I pay for my drink and sit back down. The stumpy table accepts my drink as it violently bows again, spilling yet more of my ‘pint’. My leg still hurts but my buzz is returning. I hook another chair with my ankle pulling it over so I can rest my leg on it. Finally some comfort as my knee is cushioned lightly on the stumpy leg of the table. An air of relief settles in as the boozy wave trickles down my temples, even the sunlight is becoming bearable, with a deep breath of musty pub air that I love, I pick up my pint. Another whack hits my knee… that stumpy leg absolute fuck of a table, wincing in pain an uncontrollable shake forces me to spill another drop. I shift my weight over a bit causing more pain but enough to avoid any more unfortunate bounces.

What a fucking day.

Sweet Stella, love of my life, nectar to my tongue and drops of poppy to my pain. I take a gulp and carefully situate my pint near the taller leg so as to avoid any bounce. My balls start to get sweaty from this sun, peering around the room as I'm scratching, I catch the eye of the woman in the corner, she scoffs at the sight of me trying to itch my way to relief but I'm not fussed. The stellas wave makes its way down to my chest as my upper body is soothed. Couple more pints and it will soon soothe my lower back, that’s the sweet spot and I know I'm getting there as I start to rub my face with my hand and relish the freedom to rotate my neck. Shit the bed, my leg is itchy. Wet underneath from earlier, under my knee starts to itch fervently. Attempting a scratch I'm warned of by another sharp pain so I rub the underside of my leg on the edge of the chair to try to gain some relief. Rubbing my face some more the bar door swings open to the sound of little feet running… The little cunt kid from earlier comes running in, hides under my table giggling, his father follows close behind as he jumps up in an attempt to scare him but whacks his head on the underside of my table knocking my pint over. Hope it hurt you little fuck

“Kids ey” The father says Haven’t seen mine in ten years “Kids… How about another beer” “Sorry just about to leave, it was only a drop left anyway, mate! Dip into your pension im sure your misses won’t mind” My misses is dead you cunt and I’m not your fucking mate… my blood boiled, I could feel my face getting red, every blood cell in my body vibrating with anger but any youth in my spirit had departed long ago. I wish I had it in me to fight this man. Even if I lost it wouldn’t matter as long as I landed one sweet punch on his chin. Dragging my leg off the chair I stand up to get another drink… More jokes, but first a piss I head to the toilet and see one of the old boys pissing in there “Derick! How was the football mi old muckah” “Great day for a bet weren’t it, tottenham, city, utd and the gooners all won, easy accumulator, Glad I didn’t back the early kick off though!” Every team I had won…. Every team but the early fucking kickoff, how the fuck do west ham lose to brighton anyway. He must have seen my disappointment “You didn't, did you?” “I fucking did” “Don’t worry geezer, I’ll get you a pint” Derick’s a legend

Quick shake of the todger and I head back to the bar to meet Derick. Walking in to the bar and I hear “Pint of carling is that, you got any I.d sir?” Derick won’t take any shit “Don't be cheeky boy or i'll have the owner fire you” Fuck I wish I said that I approach the bar and glance at Derick, we’re thinking the same thing… What a twat this guy is. “What’ll it be mate” “Stella please Del boy” “And a stella boy, and you got more chance platting piss if you think I’m paying for a drink with a head on it like that, top it up” He’s such a legend. “You wanna come outside with me mate? My grandson’s down to visit me” I wonder if I have a grandson. “Nah del, my chairs just got free and I wanna rest mi leg” “Right you are” Yada yada, del pays and I make my way over to my chair, what a relief the cushion gives me as I pour another half a stella down my throat. It’s wave makes its way to my lower back and I can finally rest and gather my thoughts. I wonder if I snagged a pigeon yet. Ha, fucking winged rats, fuck this stella is good, they must have just changed the barrel and cleaned the lines. The rest of the pint goes straight down my gullet. The bars a little busier now but at least I have my seat. I wait as the memory of my wife enters my thoughts, her long brown youthful hair, rosey cheeks and olive eyes.. I miss them… I can smell her perfume, rose petals… I can smell rose petals! My thoughts get interrupted by a loud buzz shooting past my ear. Was that a fucking fly!? The only thing I hate more than pigeons are fucking fly’s.

God I can feel my eyes watering.


It’s my turn at the bar.

“Stella, and a double brandy”

Thankfully the boy is shaken from classic Derick.

Without a word he gets my drinks and yada yada, I'm back at my seat with two drinks in hand.

The underside of my leg is still damp, moreso now with sweat. It itches but the brandy will hit my legs im sure.

Courvoisier, one foul swoop and its down the hatchet with a sip of stella to wash it down.

The brandy weighs heavy but makes its way down to my legs, falling into my fist I drift off trying to remember her one more time.

Rose petals… I can smell rose petals

Another loud buzz but right in my fucking ear, Is this fly in my fucking ear!? I whack it but to no avail hitting myself up the side of my head. Is that fucking barman looking at me?

Where’s my pint

Oh sweet stella, my life of love, my poppy nectar to pain.

My nose itches, crossing my eyes to look, that fucking fly is on my nose!

I beat it off but forget that my pint is in my hand, my grips too weak to hold onto it as it smashes into the bar beside me.

The fly is dancing in front of me, mocking me…

Is someone laughing at me in the corner?

I miss her

There it is, landed right on the table in front of me.. I got you now!

I slam my hand down on the table, completely miss the fly, my hand stings, my arthritis throbs as pain shoots down my leg, uncontrollably it bounces up underneath the table.

Pain shoots up my body, my face boils as I can feel my blood vibrate.

I miss her so much,

Tears down my face and this fucking fly won’t go away.

It’s on the table again! Flapping its wings at me. My rage overcomes me but for a brief and sweet second my youth returns and I flip that fucking table right over with the fly on it, it flies up and dances in my face once again, I go to right hook it but carry myself too far and fall over the table as my head bounces of the floor.

My head's throbbing.

I try to get up but Im too fucked or my leg don’t work no more, is that Del helping me to my feet…

I can hear the commotion around me but can’t make out what they’re saying. No doubt wailing to get this old fuck out of here.

Everthings a blur,

A pain shoots up my leg as I'm hoisted to my feet by Del? and some unknown guy on the other side. Too weak to even fight them off or walk by myself I pass through the blurs of the bar to the outside.


Blurry all the way home… Am I even walking by myself? The British night is cold and the British drizzle hasn’t stopped. The fat British woman fades past. I think I'll just rest at this bench. Is that my wife next to me? I can smell rose petals…

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