100 days: Day 18


Scruffy Gent.

I didn’t the look of him the moment I clapped eyes on him, which was after we sat down. I think it was mainly down to the combination of dusty suit jacket and naked flesh that adorned his top half. It was awkward, we were constrained to the same table from the first sip of the laborious looking pint. We began a self conscious quietly spoken conversation. He seemed to react to the trivial nature of our youthful banter, tutting away like nineteenth century telegraph machine and shaking his head as if umpiring a flea tennis match taking place on the end of his nose. After a while he got up and sat a few tables away, I think I might have been starring.

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