Well, I don’t make the money you do.
The money I make? That’s a bloody joke. You saw it tonight. Nine people – sorry – I mean, eight and a half bloody people. What a fucken’ insult. I reckon more would’ve shown up for Hitler’s wake. And how was the publican? – withholding my pay. The prick should’ve marketed it better. I can’t afford anymore empty rooms.
Everyone has bad nights, mate.
It’s been happening more and more.
Don’t worry about it, mate.
…and Trevor attempted to ease his hardship.
Yeah? That’s real easy for you to say. Ya don’t have the worries I do. Between paying back the government, my bastard-prick of an ex-manager, me ex wife…
Be thankful you’ve only got one of them.
Trevor’s comment halted the next approaching tirade. Sandy allowed a laugh to intervene his rage, and gave his friend an understanding smile, and luckily for Trevor the waiter returned before Sandy could revert to another raving. He placed his empty glass onto the tray and took his next drink.
A tablet’s a computer, sir.