“Alright son, let’s do this one more time, from the top. Where were you from 2 am last Wednesday morning?”
Lying in the bath sipping on of the most expensive bottle of wine he’d ever seen, Derrick said out loud.
“Well, I’m just… breathtakingly fucked.”
But then the light came in, a golden hand reaching down to lift him from his prison and bring him back to life.
The barmaid was a tired-looking girl, probably in her mid-20s after a shower, but in that moment she could have been anything from 19 to 47.
“I always knew… That we were solid. That whatever shit came our way we’d take it on together. That even on days when we hated each other we would take each other’s hands and get through it, together.”
“I know what you’re thinking.” He said as he slipped the last of his martini down his throat. “Does he come here often? The answer is no.”
Once upon a time, there was a small strange pub called The Sleeping Llama.
Normally the end results were mild regret and a bit of fatigue but today he felt like he’d just won the lottery.
Isaac was, in fact, going to be late for his family dinner as he was, at the same moment, on the other side of the city quietly slipping out of the bedroom of Mrs Williamson.
His muscles all tensed and he opened his mouth to scream, but the rushing air caught the sound in his throat and he stifled.