1.Crosswords

"Well start behaving like an adult and you might get treated like one." she said in a slight east European accent. He walked out the door. The fine rain, choreographed by the wind, penetrated.

He lit a cigarette and walked towards the pub, at a casual pace, aiming to finish said cigarette before entering said establishment. Bloody smoking laws.

Greeting the usual selection of bar flies with nods and hellos he approached the bar.

‘Shit’ he said hopefully to himself when I realised the eX was working behind the bar?

‘Pint of Flowers?’ She asked in such a way that the enmity was tangible.

‘Please’ he replied to the person he had lived with for three years, feeling battered, confused, guilty and contrite all at the same time. Image of female dog.

The pint was poured in the type of glass he preferred. Placing the correct money on the bar he took a thankful slug and moved to his seat. It's called his seat, but it is just the seat he usually sat in that gives him an optimum view of the bar, where he can sit and read, or pretend to read his book.

‘What you reading? Asked Dave in his broad Mancunian accent.

‘A book Dave.’ This was not the first time they had had this conversation. Tall any skinny, Dave wore at all times, whatever the weather, at least three different combat jackets. He had issues with his medication.

‘I know that but which one?’

‘This one Dave.’ Dave laughed for a little longer than was strictly necessary. 

The after work five o’clock club started to arrive, muddy boots, dirty fingernails leaving clouds of cement or plaster dust in their wake. Neil loped in, dressed in similar attire; he was still ecstatic at Liverpool’s win the previous weekend rubbing the few Evertonians up the wrong way. He went outside for a smoke and on returning placed the correct money on the bar.

‘What would you like?’ said someone he had not seen before. A new barmaid, definitely not the diminutive Glaswegian who usually worked the shift after the eX.

‘Flowers please’

She went for a bitter glass.

‘In a Boddingtons glass please.’ he mumbled.

‘Sorry, you want Boddingtons?’

‘No Flowers in a Boddingtons glass, sorry to be a pain.’ he was not sure if she had noticed his tongue lolling about on the floor. Pint received he returned to his seat, pretended to read book, and as every other male in the bar was doing attempted to discreetly assess the physical attributes of the 'new girl'.

First her ring finger. This may sound a bit corny and in today’s modern society not a genuine reflection of availability, but it often a fairly good indicator. Clear proceed to step 2.

Thirty-five to forty five he guessed but he had never been very good at guessing the age of females. Long dark brown hair with reddish highlights, tied loosely back with a blue elastic band into a pony tale. Black vest top acceptably filled by turquoise bra. Naturally worn, denim jeans of no particular brand that fitted where they were supposed to. 

Neil sat at the bar and had homed onto to her like some sort of guided missile and was using his ’witty repartee’ to gain information.

Sam, her name. The loft room here, where she was staying. The The, favourite band. Brazil, favourite film. Rum and coke, she will save it for later.

He was drinking his pint rather quickly, rolling cigarettes rapidly. He had only ever bought one film on tape and on DVD and that was Terry Gilliam’s 1984 pastiche Brazil. His teenage years were warped by listening to too much of Matt Johnson’s The The.

‘Oh shit.’ he hopefully said to him self. ‘Twat, twat, twat, your only hearing what you want to hear. You are drinking too much, not eating well you getting delusional again. You are losing your slender grip on reality.'

'Gave them up, mobile phones. So nineties. Pre-Raphaelite art.'

He still tried to give the pretence of not listening to the conversation. 'Shit, shit, shit.'

‘What did you say Pete?’ Had he been speaking out loud?

‘Oh nothing just a gruesome bit in the book.’ he mumbled, hurriedly downing his pint,  collected my smoking paraphernalia, said a general goodbye. As he opened the door he glanced back into the bar to find himself being stared at by Sam. Pete attempted a weak grin and thought it might have been returned.