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Posts Tagged ‘pub’

An arm swipes my face, leaning to take our empties. A series of games machines flash nearby. You complain under your breath. Later, at the bar, you despise my drinks orders, hate that I also want crisps. This has become a familiar feeling. This dull sensation of inevitability, the sheer power of sameness, that nothing ever changes, that pubs are pubs are pubs, would always be pubs. In one corner, men with loosened ties share loud conversations. Thick-necked rugby players grope and spit at each other on the television screen. Somewhere nearby, someone is humming a song by The Smiths.

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I step outside and you move away, think again and return to where you were. You’re on your mobile phone, you’re prodding at the keys and then you tell me I’m only hurting myself by standing in the cold instead of in the pub. I tell you alcohol is evil and I only ever drink pure green tea. You say that you used to have accidents when you drank cider, but the part that hurt was never the part that got hurt. I recommend elderflower, I praise freshly squeezed lemonade. You say life is too short not to choose Guinness.

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This is the first time I’ve not wanted to speak to a stranger. I’m tired of trying. I see the puffed ruffled sleeves on your shirt and how the elastic trim is digging into your forearms. You pull a pint, you announce it with a raised eyebrow. I have nothing more to report. You take my money, you return my change. I’ve done this too many times now. I request the time, just to say something. You glance at your watch and tell me. And the man next to me orders shandy and asks me if I think it’s late.

 

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