Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Simply Pass By

"You need a beer," she said, sitting in her chair and smiling. A limp cigarette dangles from her lips that curled smoke into the nighttime air. "You do."
"I do," I said, looking across the table at the froty drinks in front of everyone else at the table. "I'll be right back."
I stood up and made my way through the bustling and drunk crowd to the bar. The queues stood three people deep, so I waited. A man to my left pushed past and slammed into the bar in front of me. Annoyed that he had cut in, I didn't say anything because he was clearly drunker and much bigger than I.
"Sorry mate," he said turning around, his eyes glassy from drink. "I cut in front a ya there."
"S'alright," I said.
The barkeep made his way to the big man and asked what he wanted. Big Man turned to me and said, "What are ya drinkin'?"
Taken aback I merely said, "A pint of Resches."
"Pint a Resches," he told the barkeep, "two Colds and a New."
"Thanks," I said.
He winked. It was then I noticed he was toting a very large bucket of feta cheese.
"What's the Feta for?" I asked.
"The Premium Collection." He said it with such definity.
I nodded and said "ah" and smiled, though I'd no idea what "The Premium Collection" was. The pint arrived on the countertop and the Big Man passed it back to me.
"What do I owe you?" I said, awkwardly reaching for my wallet.
He merely winked, put on a "don't worry about it" smile and waved his hand at me.
"Thanks," I said, stunned, and walked back to the table.
I sat down next to her again and said, "Someone just bought me a drink."

Some time into the night I bit the bullet from the pressure and got up to piss.
"Mind my seat," I said and threw my hat onto the chair. "And don't drink my beer."
"It's probably rufied," she said. "Date-rape: the joy of a night on the town."
"Shut up," was all I mustered as I sauntered like a drunk to the toilet. Once inside, I moved to the urinal and before I could unzip, the only other man in there yelled at me in a Cockney voice, "Louv ya haircut!"
"Cheers," I said.
"You in a band?"
I decided to have fun. Make something up.
"Yeah," I said in my best Irish voice.
"It a gay boy band?"
"Nah. Punk band."
"English punk or Irish punk?"
I stopped for a moment and then pressed out, "English punk."
Another man came into the bathroom then and stood, pissing, next to me. They clearly knew each other as they razzed one another with noogies and insults.
"I'll bite your face, cunt," said the newcomer.
"That should be yer next song," the Cockney said to me. He rocked over to me and stood right behind me and sang to no tune in particular,

I'll bite yer face, cunt,
I'll bite yer face, cunt,
I'll bite yer face, cunt,
even though I'm pleased ta see ya!

I had to admit, it'd make a good "oi oi oi" punk song. He laughed like a lunatic and made for the door. Newcomer turned to me and said, "He's a bloody champion."
"He's fucking insane," I said back.
But Cockney had heard me and yelled back into the now kind of crowded bathroom, "I ain't fuckin' crazy, ya long-haired hippie!"
And we all laughed.

I got back to the table and watched time simply pass by in the pints.

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