The burliest orange vested man rests his tattooed forearms on the bar. ‘What’ll you have?’ she asks.
‘Four pots,’ he says, ‘and you got a lunch special?’
She points to the end of the bar. ‘Go and see Maggie on that one, she’ll sort you out.’
‘Sure,’ he says, leaning on the bar and raising his eyebrows, ‘but what’s good?’
‘Oh, everything’s good,’ she says, because flirting back brings in the customers. Apparently. So Mike says.
The guy grunts, already disinterested. He takes the beers off to their table and she figures they won’t be going back to work this afternoon. Christmas, the heat, summer, sends everyone a bit loopy and lazy.
One of them seems familiar. He nods at her as though he knows her and she nods back, trying to place him. A younger him, shorter hair… Oh yeah, Mitchell Ja
