At a bar, I find myself standing next to a short man and a tall man. The short man is wearing a t-shirt that exposes two arms covered in tattoos. Down one forearm is an image of a large dagger. His face is round and topped with a black pork-pie hat. He appears to be staring at me. 'I'm sorry', I say. 'Have I pushed in?' The tall man shakes his head. He has dark hair and well-kept stubble. 'No, no', he says. 'He's just like that'. I decide to ease the tension by asking my question. The short man looks at me blankly. The tall man begins to explain. 'I understand what he's asking', says the short man. he gives me an answer. I have to ask him to spell it. 'Where's it from?' I ask. 'I've never looked into it', he says.
'Do you want to know mine?' asks the tall man. 'Okay', I reply. 'You have to guess', he says. He tells me it begins with 'O'. I get it first time. 'Yeh', he says, 'there aren't many'. I tell him I've had a lot of practice. He is concerned that I will forget. I assure him that I won't. 'How do you do that?' he asks.
The short man waves goodbye as I collect my drinks and head back to the table. Shaken by the tall man's concern, I jot down the names on the back of a receipt.
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