I followed him up the road, staggering slightly from a day of ‘sin’ down the local. It was a new local, new people, new town, same old music on the jukebox. He was one of the new people and I am sure it was a ‘he said, she said’ moment when our eyes met across the bar.
A half turned to another pint, I fitted into the stool like it was made for my ass, the same ass that crashed to the floor on the way home. He reached, and missed, but proceeded to lift me up from the wet path, sudden arm round waist to steady my soul. Magnets on my back.
A T.V. show, that was it, that’s how we started talking, the landlord handing me a free half of ale to test. Why own a pub when you hate the drink landlord? It was like toffee apples and Autumn, then everyone moaned about the weather and how everything is out of sync, then I synced back to him, and his eyes. They were browns of stained old wood and fireplaces. Warm to the touch. Like lit matches and elastic bands.
Now, which way’s home.