Given the starter HURRICANE for a 10 minute “quick write” – I thought “Jeese I never watch the weather or news reports – what now?” Luckily a different kind of hurricane came to mind.
The old neighbourhood pub, as usual, was crowded with punters along at the brightly lit bar end. It reeked of stale b.o., stale beer, stale smoke.
At the far end of the bar-room it was dimly lit apart from three low slung light bulbs, suspended over the green baize covered slate snooker table. No action there yet though – the auto workers across the road hadn’t finished their shift.
The street door opened, and pushing his way in through the crowd came an elegantly dressed young man, maybe in his late twenties. He firmly pushed his way between the drinkers up to the bar, and ordered a pint of bitters. He was out of turn, but as people began to recognise him, any annoyance fled.
“ ’Ere, that’s the ‘urricane!” came a whisper.
“You mean ‘iggins?” someone asked in awe. Murmurs of admiration and wonder floated through the punters. They moved back to give the snooker champ some room, while wondering why on earth had he come here, to this ol’ dump?
“Hullo, lads. Just fought I’d pop in for a quick shoot while me tyres get fixed. Anyone up for a quick play?”
He was almost mobbed in the rush.
© Lynne McAnulty-Street, Rotorua NZ, Feb 2011