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The official owner of this shite pub
(Liam)
I pushed open the back door of the pub and stepped over one of the extra kegs. I checked the bathroom — disgusting. I grabbed a roll of toilet paper off the back shelf, replaced the empty roll, and sprayed cleaner on the seat and wiped it with a paper towel. Where the hell was Naisha? I went through to the bar.
“Pisspot looked hellish.”
Naisha said, “I’m sorry, Liam, I was dealing with the wine order.”
I grabbed a mug and poured a Tennant’s. “What a fuckall day — paid some debts, promised tae pay more, and now I am the official owner of this shite pub.”
A cockroach ran across the floor. I crushed it under m’boot.
She said, “You must be very proud,” as I wiped it up and tossed it in the trash.
“I came tae help ye finish up and cash out — did it ever get busy?” I glanced around. There were only the three regulars, looking drunk enough tae get sent home. The till wouldna cover Naisha’s time.
She laughed. “Busy, nah, this place hasn’t been busy since 1957.”
I took a long drink of m’lager. Then the front door opened, and all eyes turned tae see Big Bub enterin’ the pub, holdin’ the door for a woman who looked uncomfortably out of place, a tourist draggin’ a pink suitcase behind her.
A pretty girl, just passin’ through this shite town.
But the muddy jeans, mussed hair, and bedraggled look said she had already been here long enough tae be ruined by the place.
