‘I’ve been waiting to order a packet of Roast beef crisps
for the past twenty minutes’, says the young man sitting next to me at the
bar. I ask if he wants me to order
them for him. ‘No’, he says. His hair is combed back from his forehead
and he has a small hoop earring in his left ear. His knee is exposed.
For a moment I think he is wearing unseasonal shorts but they are, in fact, a pair
of heavily ripped jeans. ‘I
couldn’t make you do that’. I
offer him a deal.
He gives me his middle names in exchange for crisps. ‘Why do you have two?’ I ask. ‘Why do you have one?’ is his
reply. His companion, with dark hair
parted like curtains, watches with a wry expression.
On returning to my table, I get my
comeuppance from Sunday’s hubris.
My mind is blank. It is
made worse by trying out various possibilities with my friends. I look back to the bar to see if I can
seek verification but my middle name and his crisps have gone.
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