The Pub (Short)

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Ahh, the local boozer, no better place to spend an evening that otherwise would have been taken up by a headset and some banter online with the Xbox crew.

A few quiet pints with a few of the lads, talking about a variety of topics and in general filling each other in on the recent happenings. The new job sounds great, I'm glad he's doing well now! It won't be long though before he hates this one too. I thought to myself while standing up. "Right, time for a smoke, be back in a minute." I saw his eyes deviate, they washed over the brand-new box of Amberleaf I had just bought before getting here.

He licked his lips, while he undressed the boring sickly green-brown packaging which kept the gold dust inside safe from the elements. I liked the yellow packaging better, but, for some reason, the government thought the new colour of the box would make it look less appealing. It did. The yellow colour was warm and inviting, preparing to give you the matrimony of a kiss that kept on giving. The green-brown colour chosen by our overlords lets you know that this little fling will be a death-do-we-part kind of deal.

Sucking in a breath through puckered lips and that thoughtful expression one would use when deciding at the end of the night, whether to have one more drink before that cold walk up the lonesome hill. "Ahh, man. I dunno. Will I have a smoke?" You ask me as if I offered you one. Cheeky fecker.

"You can have one if you want," I replied, feeling like some sort of drug dealer who just promised you that the stuff is rocket fuel. It wasn't. Instead, it had enough detergent in it to wash some of those crusty clothes that I'm afraid to peel off the bottom of my wardrobe. Detergent or not though, that wouldn't stop scum like me from enjoying a messy night. "No, I have to stay strong." He replied firmly, crossing his arms afterwards.

"Good man, the stuff is getting expensive anyway." I let out a cheeky laugh as if I was joking, realistically though, I knew I wasn't. 23 euros now for a box. Times were getting tough.

The door swung open, giving my inebriated self the romanticised image of being some cowboy stepping into a saloon. But, instead of a warm and no doubt stinking drinking well. I stepped outside, into the brisk autumn wind and a quiet street. Quiet, bar one other person. He gave me the nod. No "Hello." "Alright." or the usual. "Howeyah?" That one was my favourite, to be honest, it made me feel like a man when asked it. One of the lads.

I'm fitting in. I would gleefully think to myself, but I knew that responding in kind would seem a bit awkward. A good ole "Alright man." Would always suffice in those situations. A personal enough reply to someone I may have spent a sloppy night with in some stranger's gaff after the late bar closed. Even though the person was regarded as a stranger at best. "Alright, man." Let them know that a part of me still loved them.

Wistful memories of a night well spent. They faded quickly, however, leaving me in the company of the nodder. No verbal greetings from this fine fellow and it was no skin off my nose. At least I knew I could quietly count how much I had drank tonight in peace.

Then a sigh from the stranger caught me off guard. I looked at him, noticing for the first time that he was staring at me. Hunching over, the mans body contorted, his arm became a claw, raising a hand to his mouth to take what can only be described as a joint-worthy drag of the finest weed in Ireland. Shame it was just a cigarette though. He did it all while keeping his eyes fixed and unblinking. Then he blew out a mighty plume, respectful enough that he directed it out the side of his mouth and away from me.

"Do you believe in god?" He asked, in a surprisingly soft tone. "Heh." Was the only response for such an attack. But, it wasn't good enough, as he continued to stare. "Yeah, I believe in... something," I responded, hoping that this wasn't going to turn into a buzz-killing tirade.

"What? Do you go to church?" He asked with his mouth a jar. "Do you?" I asked and he laughed painfully, looking away and shaking his head. How come the crazies always talk to me? I wondered. Every time I'm in the vicinity of one, they sniff me out.

"Do you know the four kinds of people in this world? Every single person can be categorised into four mindsets." He said, raising four fingers, just in case I didn't hear him, I guess. This is a bit heavy. I shook my head. I was intrigued enough to listen. I may even stick around if I finish my rollie before he finishes speaking.

"The world is good and I'm good. They're the people who don't want to think too much about anything and just want to float along happily." He took a drag. "The world is bad, but I'm good. They're the activists, the ones that want to change things and save us." He said intently. "The world's good, but, I'm bad. They're the godly, the trusting, the depressed." He flicked his cigarette and stood closer, bringing down his voice a tiny bit. "The world's bad, and so am I." He opened and then squinted his eyes quickly when he said I. "They're the killers." The stranger looked away after a short silence. He took another drag of his cigarette and threw the butt to the road aggressively. Then he turned and walked down the street. The worst part was, he never said "Bye."

Was he even drinking in here? I wondered to myself, sad to be left alone out here in this dark world. But, I knew I would surely cross paths with the mad bastard again someday.