27
I use the walk to the Old Ship to stretch my legs. By the time I get there, I'm back to my usual loping stride. I enter the pub at nine. The place is busy with the after-work crowd. And not the office kind. We're talking labourers in dusty boots and t-shirts. Middle-aged men with beer bellies in polo shirts. The odd woman caked in makeup and wearing clothes that used to fit 'em when they were younger. They used to be in fashion, too.
I shoulder my way to the front of the bar, ignoring the funny looks I get on the way. The landlord is on duty again, wearing the same England shirt. He pours me a pint. I sup on the head.
Wow that tastes good.
Everything tastes good when you've come back from the dead. Even watered-down piss like this. I turn and look around the pub. I notice a bunch of
