The man in the corner

He is sat in this corner booth, looking down at his pint glass, whilst swirling it. He seems captivated by this, like he has developed a new art form spinning the dark liquid inside, with-out it spilling over. He has perfect control and stability and a good-eye for this. I try to look at his face but the darkness has diguised most of his features. I want to talk to him, so I think of something to say. 

"Sir, is this booth taken? You wouldn't mind If I have this? Or if not that's ok, it fine..... I just want somewhere to sit."

The man raises his head slightly and pulls a sly smile. His whole face is a little bit more visible now. The faded light shines over his crew-cut hair and reveals his dark eyes, they are the darkest eyes I have ever seen. He has a hard nose, pointed chin and pale complexion. He is wearing a dark red Ben Sherman shirt and a rusty, gold necklace. He has a few tattoes down his left and right arm, they are hard to make out.

"Is it ok if I sit here?" 

The man scoffs slightly. I wait in silence for an answer. 

"You can sit anywhere you want. It isn't my pub."

I am not sure how to take this but my mind had decided to sit my butt down on the chair anyway. I am now in full view and examination of this man, I squirm a little. We spend a few long minutes in silence, just me sat staring at him. I rub my palms together and try to sit upright and focus on something else. I scan the table, studying the writing on the cigarrette box and checking his pint glass that is still half full with dark liquid.

"Would you like another drink? Erm whatever you're drinking." 

The man scoffs again and looks around in bemusement. 

"Well if you insist." He mumbles.

"Cool, cool." I stand up quickly, " What is that?"

"Jack Daniels and Coke."

I take that as my signal to leave and I strive briskly towards the bar. To my disliking I get served by the same rude bar tender.

We have  been sat at the table for fifteen minutes now, but at least we have made a little bit of conversation. I have learned his name is Pious and has knows my name is Andrew. There was no more talking after that, just me left to ponder what an intriguing name that was and time to focus on finishing my beer and heading back off home again. I take one long, thirst-quenching gulp of my drink, place it on the table and stand up. 

"Im off now." I declare, slightly resigned and demoralised by the evening events. 


I take my coat and look down at the floor, avoiding his gaze. The man appears to smile slightly and says

"Thanks for the drink."

I smile and stroll home. 







The End

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