Zeph
The Hanged Man is fucking packed, which you will take as testament to your find carpentry and decoration and not the fact that the weather's as hairy as Vi's balls. Autumn winds are old news, and nothing compared to the spring, but they make a good excuse to hunker down and have a drink.
And so here you are, half for business and half for pleasure, your eyes and ears keen as you lean against the bar. Mik passes you your usual - straight rum, the good stuff, thanks - and you sip it all languid and nonchalant, pausing to greet people as they come up to you, exchanging pleasantries (and unpleasantries) as the night wears on.
And yeah, you saw the tall bloke who's sitting by himself. You know almost everyone who frequents the 'Man by sight if not by name, so an outsider sticks out like a sore thumb - especially one who's dressed like that. So when you've finished your obligatory greetings and discussions you mosey over to the empty chair, plopping down first and asking second. "This seat open, friend?"
And so here you are, half for business and half for pleasure, your eyes and ears keen as you lean against the bar. Mik passes you your usual - straight rum, the good stuff, thanks - and you sip it all languid and nonchalant, pausing to greet people as they come up to you, exchanging pleasantries (and unpleasantries) as the night wears on.
And yeah, you saw the tall bloke who's sitting by himself. You know almost everyone who frequents the 'Man by sight if not by name, so an outsider sticks out like a sore thumb - especially one who's dressed like that. So when you've finished your obligatory greetings and discussions you mosey over to the empty chair, plopping down first and asking second. "This seat open, friend?"
you're not a bad person
for the ways you tried to kill your sadness
for the ways you tried to kill your sadness
