The Tired Old Man and the Rebellious Young Girl

Above the bar, the fans commenced their lazy cycles, watching over the men below. They were all gesticulating and shouting, their voices climbing higher and higher on top of each other, as if they believed they could somehow decipher the answer they were looking for within the chaotic rambles of the loudest shout. Almost all the men in the bar were congregating at the frenzy, only two people, a tired looking man and a young looking girl, sat at the table alone in the corner.

' - it's a bloody vicious cycle I tell you,' the man with the goatee was shouting, finally able to gain a foothold in the shouting match. 'Elections come, the sheep vote, same breed of prick with the same bloody ego gets elected. No one in this country knows any better, I bloody swear.'

'Kennedy's alright,' a voice shouted.

'F**k your socialist s**t,' another voice said. 'I've had enough of you hippies.'

'No, no, you listen to me,' the man with the goatee slouched forward, nearly tipping over the glass of alcohol on the table. 'You see, you see, middle class folks, except for a rare few of course, don't know a bloody thing. Well, the government, the institutions, they're all laughing at us because of that, and they think they can dumb things down so we don't understand we're living in f*****g prison, but, see, guys like us, we're the change. If there's enough of us we can open everyone else's eyes - '

Almost immediately he was met with several eye rolls and cries of derision.

'Get lost you twat.'

'F**k off.'

'No, listen, that's exactly what you to think. They're seeding doubt, seperating us, weakening the movement - '

'You sound like a f*****g Commie, a*****e.'

The man with the goatee bristled. 'F**k Commies. That's not what I'm bloody saying, you idiots. I say - '

'Woah, hold up,' a plump man held up his meaty arms, pleading for an audience. 'Whose to say Communism's bad?'

As soon as the American citizens heard that, they booed and hissed, stamping their feet on the floor.

'Come on! Look, don't listen to the government. They don't know anything, all cosied up in their little cubbieholes. Communism is for guys like us.'

'Have you heard what's happening in China, you fucktard?' the man with the goatee shouted. ' Or in all these Warsaw countries? People are bloody dying over there, and you say - '

'That's what they want us to think,' the burly man echoed. 'They're feeding us lies, because that's what they do.'

'It doesn't take a bloody genius to figure out Commies f*****g suck, government or no government.'

'How do you know? Ever lived in a Communist country before?'

'That's a bloody stupid argument, and you know it.'

The crowd booed him, punishing him for sidestepping the other man's point, ridiculous as it was. The man with the goatee emptied his glass, and then, with his red face, shouted, 'F**k off, all of you.'

Of course this drove the crowd into a frenzy again, and everybody started shouting at once, each blaring out their own opinions without bothering to discern the others'. For a moment, the bar became an incomprehensible mess.

At the corner, the tired looking man barely looked up. He had seen this song and and dance before, many times, and they always ended the same. The men left, the bartender mopped up the damage, the glasses were washed and the next day the same crowd would come back to do the same thing all over again. And, for his part, the tired looking man would just sit back and drink his beer and drown his sorrows, as was supposed to be the usual bar operating procedure anyway.

The girl watched the fight in front of her with a quizzical look on her face. 'I can never tell what they're so angry about.'

'Nothing,' the man grunted, then resumed chugging. He slammed the bottle back onto the table, and reached for the next one.

'Er...' the girl looked at the swirling brown liquid. 'Can I try some?'

'Again...?'

'I'll do it this time, I promise.'

The man sighed, and handed the bottle over to her. She cupped it in both hands and slowly tipped it backwards, allowing the liquid to escape down her throat.

'Hurry up,' the man said.

The girl sucked her lips in and placed the bottle on the table. 'I...I think I'm not ready yet.' she moaned, rubbing her tongue with her fingers.

'Stop trying,' the man said. 'If you don't like it, just stop.'

'Sorry...but it looks quite cooling...I dunno.'

'Whatever,' the man sighed, and brought the bottle to his lips once again.

The bartender, a tall man with thin grey hair, detached himself from the counter, pushed past the chattering crowd and made his way over to them. He held a special soft spot for the two of them, Adam and Colette Jones, the only two regulars who didn't spend their time smashing glasses or slamming stools. He hated the passion of the other regulars, and often sought a break with his favourite pair as much as possible.

'Evening, Adam,' he said.

Adam didn't acknowledge. He was otherwise occupied with his alcohol.

The bartender didn't mind. He had long since been accustomed to Adam's eternal apathy to everything around him.

'Hi, Mr Brown,' Colette said brightly.

'Hello, Colette,' Mr Brown's weathered face instantly softened. 'So how's that exam?'

'Aced it. At least, I think I did.'

'Nice one.'

Adam finished his second bottle. 'Get me another one.'

'You're raking up a huge debt today, Jones. You want my advice? Stop drinking.'

'Can't. Get me another one.'

Colette punched him lightly on the arm. 'Hey, I read somewhere that you could get liver poisoning from drinking too much.'

'I know. So?'

'So? You'll shrivel up and die!'

'Whatever. I need another bottle.'

Mr Brown chuckled. 'You'd better listen to your daughter, Jones.'

'She's not my daughter.'

Mr Brown's smile froze on his face. 'What?'

'She's just someone staying with me.' Adam said, idly rubbing his hand against the table.

'Hey!' Colette pouted.

'It's true.'

Colette grinned sheepishly. 'Don't mind him, Mr Brown. He's always like that.'

Mr Brown was aware his mouth was hanging open, and he slowly close it. 'I'm sorry...you two were always together, and I just assumed...'

He trailed off. To his relief, though, none of them seemed particularly offended. Mr Brown was even surprised he thought of offending them, after all, in all his six years of serving hooligans from behind the counter, he's never learned to mince his words. And yet, with those two, closed off from the permanent chaos that plagued his bar, he felt a certain...sympathy?

It looked that they were as thick skinned as the rest, however. Adam was still beckoning for a bottle. 'Hurry up. Get me another one.'

'O-okay,' Mr Brown said, 'But your tab's going up, I'm warning you.'

Colette watched him shuffle back to the counter. 'He's pretty nice, isn't he? For a bartender, I mean.'

'I've seen him punch the teeth out of Reeves once,' Adam said lightly.

'Punch who?'

'Reeves. The idiot with the goatee.'

'Really? They both seem like nice people...'

Adam didn't reply. He stared at the bottles lined up at the counter, drumming his fingers.

'Anyway, I'm sure they're all nice people, in the end. Reeves gave me a button, remember?'

'That's because you're the only remotely attractive looking girl in a ten mile radius.'

'What? You mean, he's like - in love with me or something?'

'He's pathetic enough for that.'

'But I'm still at school!'

'I don't think he's worked that out yet.'

Mr Brown returned with a fresh bottle, and reluctantly set it down. 'Listen, Jones, if I'm not wrong, you've had what - six bottles today?'

'Yeah,' Adam said, grabbing the bottle and twisting it open in a second.

'That's a new record, and I'm not kidding. Not just for you - for the whole bar. I've never seen a man take six bottles and still be able to move.'

Colette frowned. 'Really?'

Adam hadn't budged from his drinking ritual, and Mr Brown sighed. 'Just letting you know, Jones. One of these days you're going to drop stone dead or run your pockets dry.'

'Pockets...dry?'

'What I mean is,' Mr Brown said, turning to Colette. 'He's going to waste a lot of money.'

'Oh, don't worry about that, Mr Brown. We have enough to get by.'

'But still...it seems that half your money just goes to this guys' beer...'

'Hey,' Adam said, lowering his empty bottle. 'Shut up.'

'Adam!' Colette groaned. 'Can you be more polite?'

Mr Brown waved his hand in a casual fashion, although he was sweating inside and he didn't know why. 'I get that all the time, Colette. It's no big deal.'

Adam abruptly stood up. 'I'm done,' he said, swaying slightly on his feet. 'Let's go.'

'Are you alright?' Colette had never seen him this drunk before, apparently, which was a blessing for her.

'Fine.' Adam slowly selected some notes and tossed them over. 'Bye.'

He tottered across the tables, Colette trouncing after him like a loyal puppy. On the way, she stopped to wave. 'Bye, Mr Brown!'

'Bye,' Mr Brown said, feeling something warm spreading through his chest, and immediately hating himself for it. As soon as they were gone, a cry rose up from the crowd at the centre. Reeves, several empty glasses rolling around at his feet, had just floored the burly Communist man with his fist. The rest of them took this gleefully as a cue to start fighting, and the bar immediately dissolved into a cacophony of fists and blood as the next phase of the night began.

'For f**k's sake,' Mr Brown muttered. 'Hey - HEY! You idiots better not wreck my f*****g stools - '

But they already were, and Mr Brown, swearing, rushed towards them to try and quell the inevitable conflict. A few hours later, by the time the last of them had staggered off for the night, all of them had received at least one cut and three bruises.