the notice of someone, though not whom he intended. Sandy felt a firm finger tap hard on his right shoulder. He turned only his head to see who it was. Behind him, with an out pushed chest, and a crumpled demeanour stood the MC and publican, waiting to be heard.
Oi, Dougie Style – I ain’t paying you for tonight, you understand? You’ll never play here again, ya fucken has-been!
Sandy never turned to acknowledge him, ignoring the man by showing him his back, and responding with only silence and heavy breaths through his nose. Satisfied with his condemnation, the publican deflated his chest and pounded his feet upstairs.
Why would I come back to this shithole?
Sandy muttered, loud enough to hear. His words halted the publican in his departure, and he shouted back from the stairs.
Is that right? You fucken smartarse?! Well, then, how about this? Oi, don’t fucken serve this prick anything tonight.
He bellowed to the bartender. Sandy quickly turned to Trevor with a sly and clever smile.
How far’s this rooftop bar, ya reckon?
He asked, obliging his old friend’s offer.