69

beyond my pint glass, less full than minutes ago, on the table, the door is open onto the mid-summer road and the mid-summer noise, exhaust and engine, a bassline to bounce cats off walls and I hear the settled laughter of the afternoon drinkers, the new man arrives alone and sees someone he knows, shakes his hand and asks, “has that brother of yours retired yet? Shunt leave it too long tha knows, how old is he now? Must be at least 50. Has he retired yet?” He heads off to the bar, while the White Stripes pick up the pace as background music.

And I’m sitting in Fannys thinking about the poem A Charm of Goldfinches by Paul Durcan, which is about sitting quietly in pub with the door beyond your pint open onto the street…

I have not yet reached a satisfactory conclusion so I head to the bar and she says, “same again love?”

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