the usual please
As we walked into the Robin Hood the landlady caught my eye and smiled. She had one pint pulled before we’d even reached the bar. With a smile for Sue you took the pint and walked off into the smoke . Sue and I exchanged pleasantries while she pulled my usual. Moving out of your home might mean this would cease to be my local pub, my usual pint, my friendly landlady.
Sue’s son was due out of prison soon. Sue was nervous about him coming back home. Would he be able to stay off the drugs, stop thieving, stop tearing her life apart. Taking a long, slow, sup from the first of what might be more than my usual 2 pints, I listened to Sue unburden her worries. My face would have shown the wear of my thoughts, looking like concern for her troubles. The reversal of tradtitional roles pulled a smile in the darkness, the customer listening to the woes of the publican. My burden was light by comparison to hers. I didn’t particularly relish the thought of meeting Sue’s son.
Peering through the smoke I watch you cheerfully chatting with a local school teacher. I’m in no hurrry to join you, everything I want to ask or say can be left unsaid in this very public place. . But some things will need sorting before bedtime. Bedtime stories that are bound to bring sleeplessness. I blamed the tears on the smoke in the pub.
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