We’re left alone and I’ve got nowhere left to go, with my grades flopped and my parents keep choosing my job until I can get back. I don’t have someone to hide in and a pub on the other side of the city is tempting. So I keep sitting here.
I see the bartender rub his lips with his sleeve as he jumps over the counter, the counter resembling something like crossed arms, some protection between me and him.
“How old are you?” He asks me, pouring himself a glass, as the place is empty, it’s after three yet he doesn’t kick me out. He looks up at the football posters hanging on the ceiling and maybe checking when is the nearest match and how to avoid specific football colours inside the pub. “I won’t kick you out, I’ve…”
“I’ve served you already. There’s no one here.” He stretches his arms and I see that he himself is a bit tipsy.
“Fifteen.” I reply, sipping my coke with no ad-ons. I hear a laugh coming out of his throat and he closes his eyes with his hand.
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