“Still raining?” the guy at the bar asked as I came in, dripping and trying to dry my glasses enough to see if I would get thumped for a smartassed retort. The bar wrapped around in either direction so that whereever you sat you could easily make out the football gossip on Setanta Sports Channel blasting from tv’s on each wall. I got a beer and a pack of crisps, since my bus was only 15 minutes away and I couldn’t settle in.
For a sporting pub, this one isn’t too bad. There were some festering sandwiches for sale on a tray near me and the catwalks above me gave glimpses of spacious dining areas for when the kitchen opened a little later on. Everything was very dark wood, but the stools were comfy and the beer was cool with a chocolate hint that could have just been something growing in the bottom of the glass…but it was tasty, nonetheless.
My weatherman hopped up from his chair and went out to smoke the cigarette he had just rolled. As I walked out behind him to catch the bus, I picked up the pack of Rizla rolling papers he left there and dropped it into the last 1/3 of his beer saying, “still raining, indeed,” which made the barman laugh and the old guy that had been next to me lift his glass and say, “alright, mate.”