The Solid Rock Cafe - a lunchtime Guiness and write

[bennie]

The smell of stale morning afters and oppressive heat like a piece of grit in the eye – sharp dagger distances…The Guinness overflows onto the thick, scarred, wooden bar surface and puddles in little malty islands…The empty Newcastle Brown Ale bottle next to me is as impressive as the brimful ashtray that pokes its offensive airs and gracelessness straight up my nose, and out through the head it pores – the Hope Street oil lubricated head pores…New chairs stacked against the wall, still in their bubble wrap beneath donated gold-discs by bands I don’t know…Two men in suits deny their seeming roots and bitch with vices flowing about the cunts and fannies back at the office (these cunts are downing lunch time vodkas by the double)…There’s a Led Zeppelin promotional zeppelin hanging above the coffee machine that’s sitting next to the milk that’s been left out of the fridge…John Smith’s, Jaggermeister and Sambuca prices are all written on the mirror behind the bar; Tia Maria is £1.50, Kenny’s Special…

…There is a single red-wine glass sitting on the shelf alone. It reflects the lights above the bar and the movements behind the bar but it remains empty…Some old blues record is playing.