tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post8877002234708399787..comments2023-12-06T00:48:23.734-08:00Comments on Daily Writing Practice: Wednesday June 1st, 2016Marchttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14952331166517430843noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post-91608203863649387702016-07-02T23:57:42.322-07:002016-07-02T23:57:42.322-07:00Greg - oh no, it just keeps getting longer. I prom...Greg - oh no, it just keeps getting longer. I promise to start working on that eventually though!<br /><br />I'm not sure why, but '... and that was only two dates.' cracked me right up.<br /><br />I do so enjoy reading about the adventures these two get up to. I suspect this shall be continued at some point, so I shall look forward to seeing what comes next!Marchttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14952331166517430843noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1149217012399643733.post-81689802473834002592016-06-03T02:59:22.330-07:002016-06-03T02:59:22.330-07:00Good work with the dishwasher! I'm sure you&#...Good work with the dishwasher! I'm sure you're keen to get it all plumbed in and started up and doing the dishes for you :)<br />Haha, I know what you mean about getting a slack period after a rush: you can't quite settle down because you feel like you ought to be doing something and there's not enough to be done. Sounds like you should take a moment at that point to enjoy the moment and relax a fraction.<br />Hmm, this piece definitely needs a continuation I think (by the way, have you continued any from that list yet, or does it just keep getting longer? ;-) ) as it sets things up, but then nothing happens. The tension is good, but it would be nice to see it resolve just a little. I really like the word 'plethora' in this as well, by the way :)<br /><br /><b>The watering hole</b><br />The pub was called the <b>Watering Hole</b> and the pub sign showed a bunch of sallow-faced, angry men holding farm implements gathered around a well. There was a suggestion that bad things were commemorated by the sign, but no-one ever asked about it, and in truth most people who drank there rarely even looked at it, or wondered about it. Bill and Ben, gentlemen thieves, pushed open the door to the saloon bar, and went inside.<br />The pub was busy but not yet crowded. There were groups of people sat around at round tables and some leaning against the bar. The televisions were on, showing the Wednesday night football, but no-one was paying much attention yet: the game had only just started and the teams were mid-division. There were plenty of mobile phones out and more attention was being paid to them that other people, but the hubbub of noise suggested that people were still talking even if no-one was listening.<br />"Two pints," said Bill, pushing his way to the bar. The barman, skinny, ripped jeans and t-shirt and a possible-septic nose-piercing sniffed. "Two pints of what?" he said. His sharp, beady-eyed gaze took in the row of taps.<br />"Whiskey," said Bill. He set a fan of twenty-pound notes down on the counter.<br />"We... we don't...," the barman was mesmerized by the money.<br />"Whiskey, please," said Bill, and the barman turned away to get two pint glasses and a fresh bottle of Teacher's.<br />"She's cute," said Ben, pointing to a girl who had her back to them.<br />"She'll have a harelip or a boxer's nose," said Bill. He looked around the room.<br />"Why you have to be so harsh? You haven't seen anything about her!"<br />"It's you, Ben, you're picking her. You always pick the weird ones. What about that girl with the egg-beater fetish?"<br />"That was different, and that was only two dates."<br />The conversation paused as the girl turned slightly and they could see her face.<br />"Nose is fine, so's the mouth," said Ben. <br />"Snaggle-toothed," said Bill as she started speaking. "Jesus, she could open a six pack with those teeth!"<br />"Bastard," muttered Ben. Two pints of whiskey were set down on the counter, and Bill's money disappeared.<br />"You have to drink them upstairs," said the barman, saying it carefully as a code-phrase.<br />"Your mother smells of peanut butter," replied Bill with a smile, and he and Ben disappeared up the stairs, leaving the pints of whiskey behind.<br />Greghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08503319830584828982noreply@blogger.com