Summary
IN THE swirling days of high promise, when the nights foamed with stories and beer, one of my old friends rose magisterially to his feet at the very moment the landlord's bell sounded last orders. He began advancing towards the bar with the sort of admirable tread that had made Britain a country of adventurers.
On reaching his destination, the young man swelled his chest and fished for the necessary coins among the bus tickets, dog biscuits, spare shoe-laces and encrusted handkerchiefs puffing his anorak pockets. The woman smiled patiently on the other side of the polished bar, her dimpled arms poised over the beer levers.See the full content of this document
Extract
David Charters
"It shshezz in the Good Book," my friend began with a slight slur and she stepped back, startled by his sudden dip into theology. "It shshezz", he repeated, "that a man cannot live by bread alone. Would you pour m...
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