Lucky's
Lucky's.
a small little bar tucked in a dark corner of a dark town. frequented only by a dozen or so regulars, any newcomers entering the bar would be stared down by everyone inside, as if undergoing some kind of acceptability test. everyone knows everyone inside; who's doing what today, who's sleeping with who's wife, who's kids are into drug troubles again, you get the idea. its not a place for wimps or those who call themselves metrosexuals or whatever it is the media calls faggots.
in short, Lucky's is a bar for the alpha males, the extinct kind. hard hitting, tough talking, beer downing folks who wont think twice about giving you a free dental surgery if you pissed them off.
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its a typical lazy saturday night, where the young folks are out at some trendy joints shaking their bodies and the old folks are lazing at home, watching the telly or just staring into space. Adam was sitting quietly in a corner, watching the boxing match on the small little telly hanging from the corner of the bar. every now and down, he would look around the bar, careful not to appear too obvious, and then go back to watching the match. there wasnt much of a crowd at Lucky's tonight; apart from him, there were four other guys playing cards at the other end of the bar, a couple of old folks talking amongst themselves and the barman.
"nor 'aving a drink, mate?" the barman asked Adam.
"no thank you, i'm just watching the match."
"yer betting on 'er match, laddie? cos, by the rate yer sweatin', yer gonnaend up all dried up like er dem skellies if yer aint gonna get yerself a drink."
the barman was getting on Adam's nerves; why cant he just leave him alone? and was he really sweating so much? he wanted to reach up his forehead and wipe the perspiration away, but decided against it.
"oh alright, give me a double scotch whisky, on the rocks then."
"ai, double scotch on the rocks coming right up, good luck with yer match mate."
after the barman left to get his drink, Adam looked around. he hoped he didnt draw any attention to himself. thank god, he thought to himself. the others in the bar didnt seem to notice him. it wasnt his type of place to hangout, but a friend had insisted that they meet here. he silently cursed his friend for standing him up like this. here, to say that the place makes him insecure would be an understatement. it absolutely terrifies him. he was a nice guy, went to a catholic boys' school, always listened to his elders, always playing by the book, never once in his life stepping out of line.
when the barman handed him his drink, he was praying that the barman wouldnt speak to him. thankfully, the guy just handed him his drink and left to polish some glasses.
a small little bar tucked in a dark corner of a dark town. frequented only by a dozen or so regulars, any newcomers entering the bar would be stared down by everyone inside, as if undergoing some kind of acceptability test. everyone knows everyone inside; who's doing what today, who's sleeping with who's wife, who's kids are into drug troubles again, you get the idea. its not a place for wimps or those who call themselves metrosexuals or whatever it is the media calls faggots.
in short, Lucky's is a bar for the alpha males, the extinct kind. hard hitting, tough talking, beer downing folks who wont think twice about giving you a free dental surgery if you pissed them off.
*******************************************************************************
its a typical lazy saturday night, where the young folks are out at some trendy joints shaking their bodies and the old folks are lazing at home, watching the telly or just staring into space. Adam was sitting quietly in a corner, watching the boxing match on the small little telly hanging from the corner of the bar. every now and down, he would look around the bar, careful not to appear too obvious, and then go back to watching the match. there wasnt much of a crowd at Lucky's tonight; apart from him, there were four other guys playing cards at the other end of the bar, a couple of old folks talking amongst themselves and the barman.
"nor 'aving a drink, mate?" the barman asked Adam.
"no thank you, i'm just watching the match."
"yer betting on 'er match, laddie? cos, by the rate yer sweatin', yer gonnaend up all dried up like er dem skellies if yer aint gonna get yerself a drink."
the barman was getting on Adam's nerves; why cant he just leave him alone? and was he really sweating so much? he wanted to reach up his forehead and wipe the perspiration away, but decided against it.
"oh alright, give me a double scotch whisky, on the rocks then."
"ai, double scotch on the rocks coming right up, good luck with yer match mate."
after the barman left to get his drink, Adam looked around. he hoped he didnt draw any attention to himself. thank god, he thought to himself. the others in the bar didnt seem to notice him. it wasnt his type of place to hangout, but a friend had insisted that they meet here. he silently cursed his friend for standing him up like this. here, to say that the place makes him insecure would be an understatement. it absolutely terrifies him. he was a nice guy, went to a catholic boys' school, always listened to his elders, always playing by the book, never once in his life stepping out of line.
when the barman handed him his drink, he was praying that the barman wouldnt speak to him. thankfully, the guy just handed him his drink and left to polish some glasses.
posted by boredphuck at 10:28 pm
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