Fletcher scratched the few pieces of stubble prickling through his cheeks and leaned on his elbow, waiting for Eugene. He smirked and nodded once in acknowledgment when the bartender set the glass in front of him. “Do you ever have a night off, mate?”
“Not when you’re the manager. Plus, I’d miss all your ugly mugs if I stayed at home.”
“Doesn’t it ever get depressing, though? Doing the same job night after night? Seeing the same people get drunk, stumble home, just to return tomorrow to do it all over again?”
Eugene watched Fletcher put the full glass of bourbon to his lips. “As long as you blokes keep coming in here, I’ll be here with open arms.”
“No, no, no.” Fletcher set down his glass. “Don’t lump me in with the neighbourhood drunks.”
Eugene chortled and used his dishtowel to wipe
