People kept staring, their eyes burning into us while we sat at our table, waiting for our order. The atmosphere felt suffocating, thick with a tension I couldn't quite decipher. Was it curiosity? Jealousy? Maybe something caught between the two. Whatever it was, it hung heavy in the air. Some people, the ones who just wanted to enjoy their drinks in peace, shifted uncomfortably. The awkwardness must have been unbearable because a few got up and left, muttering they couldn't handle it anymore.
But the others? The ones whose eyes never left us? They stayed, glued to the spectacle we'd become. The waiter, helpless, kept glancing over, but he couldn't do shit. These men, with their thick, greasy muscles, were paying customers too. So the staff could only watch in defeat, while the regulars—real customers—shrank back, fear painted across their faces, intimidated by the sight of these hulking men in what was supposed to be a warm, cozy pub.
