“Another pint should put just the right color on the day,” I half-whispered to myself as I rationalized ordering another creation of Arthur Guinness’s brilliance. As the pub’s barman slid my libation past the ashtrays and napkins, a sniveling, and seemingly inebriated, derelict skulked past my stool and leaned his filthy frame over the bar rail.
After a few moments the man placed his order, and to my amazement his voice was crisp and precise. I had expected to hear a number of words that ended with the ‘ish’ sound that drunkards make, but his English was fine.
After a few deep draws on his ale, his bloodshot eyes turned to mine.… Read the rest