Golden Ale

His wiry frame balances on the bar stool. Every so often he bursts into song to accompany the melancholy music playing in the background.


All around are busy in their own chatter and laughter and either do not notice or ignore the man sat on the stool.


He is certainly a regular. This can be seen by his menu recommendation to people flicking through the paper whilst waiting to pay for their drinks and is interaction with the bar staff.


His thin glasses catching the soft light of the hanging light fixtures. Hiding the eyes in an artificial glow.


He makes a special effort to link words together although at times the frustration makes him stop mid slur and the knowledge that drink has began to win the battle settles in him. With a shake of the head he tries again to orchestrate a sober sounding sentence with intoxicated thoughts.


His fluid movements belie a delicacy that is pint born. Each simple gesture seems complicated. Like a puppet on a string awaiting instructions for the next move.

Alone he sits. Drifting with light covered glazing mirrors. Time ticks on and still he sits. Not hungry, just thirsty.

Photo by Hadinet Tekie

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