Holder is sitting down around the corner.
"Mineral Water and a Real Ale and could I have a double vodka"
The waitress looks as if she'd been thinking of deigning him with a smile, but the vodka puts a bigger smile on the inside of his face. His face seems looser. He takes a big swig of the real ale. Its disgusting but Jones knows that its a respectable drink. Someone drinking a double vodder and a couple of fosters is one thing but a man having a pint of Timothy Taylors is quite another.
He drinks some more ale.
"There is no way she will smell the vodder now" he thinks "no way"
"Here you go" he says. The mineral water looks space aged. Jones knows this is the future. He looks at the real ale. He is on the cusp of a generation which is the pivot between two epochs. One is the internet born, mineral water drinking health future. THe other is dead and gone, dead and jazzed ash and ale at lunchtimes.
"Maudlin" he thinks, he smiles.
"God I could get wasted now. Switch to lager, get some vodders, get pilled up.
He looks at Holder, appraising her. Bollocks to the case, to this Mary. Jones is interested in Holder.
"Has she got the fire in her? Has she stood on a hill in the howling rain and raged? Jesus I am still fucked"
She looks demure and reserved. He sighs. He was never going to have a wonton afternoon anyway. He forces his eyes back to what they see and have seen, not what they'd like to imagine
She looks at him, sees the real ale. She watches the way the sunlight streams in through the clean windows and dusty blinds. Straight, as if it were true. It bounces off the glasses and the ale and the glass at the bar.
Of course she knows why he drinks, of course she does. The idea that she would say anything is beyond laughable.
"So, bollocks to Rawlings and his "Don't judge" shit"" says Jones.
"What do you reckon's happened to Mary then"
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