Everything about Pat Maloney was big.
His ego
His car
His girth
But especially his mouth.
He ordered a pint like this:
“Do me a Black.”
A man beside him said,
“Tut, tut, surely you mean, may I have?”
Pat only glanced at him, a puny bollix, but then most seemed simply tiny. He said,
“f**k off before I land me shoe in yer hole.”
The man gave what might have been a delighted giggle, said,
“Oh, how you trample on the sacred ground.”
Pat was distracted by his mobile and began one of those all too common exchanges of loudness and bravado. He sank most of his pint during this tirade of ostentation. When he finished, the annoying guy had disappeared. After a feed of drink Pat developed that drinker’s lust for fast food. It had to be greasy, a caloric riot.
He settled for Supermac’s,
