The pub was chockablock with the youthful sort of lads and lasses all about to kick off their night before heading to the clubs, and so needing a place to inaugurate the evening. Black and red still coloured the room but to Petey it might as well have been black and blue for all the attention he paid to where he was; he was on the fast train of on the piss, passing life at 300 kilometres an hour and maybe he'd never get off and wouldn't that be a story?
'Blimey, she looks a goddess,' Jonesy said, finding him in the crowd, ogling the backside of a sealed tight, young girl.
'Her breath smells the same as us in the morning,' Pete said.
'And what I'd pay for it to welcome me to the new day, I tell ya.'
'You find me anything?'
'Care for a drink?'
'You buying?'
'You was at the game, ay?'
'Fuckin shite, it's been a day.'
Pete's head was swimming, drowning in the odour of old men and cologne of new men, and the beer kept entering his mouth, and he didn't have but a second to breathe and think this isn't the sport for me.
'I got a job for ya boy, over at Seaman's crisps,' Jonesy said, bringing the last order over and slamming it hard on the table; it flowing and pooling around the glass. 'No sea but maybe the scent of sea salt.'
'Fuck it, when do they want me then, yeah?'
'5:00am, yeah, but you won't be in any sort—'
'Yeah, yeah, I'll be right for it.' Pete downed his glass and cleaned out his nose.
'What a cuck up, ay, boys,' Khan said to them.
'Fuck off with that, ay.'
Pete called it a night.