A Night in the Pub

Tending a pub part-time in Manchester, I look forward to the calm nights, when only regulars drop in to see last week's football match on the high definition telly. This night however, as I polish glasses (which contrary to popular opinion is an act of boredom rather than necessity), a stranger walks in, conspicuously out of place. He approaches one of the regulars politely but when the man turns his attention to the stranger, he is greeted with a shot to the chest. Quite alarmed, I drop a glass and stumble back. Nobody else, however, even lifts their head. The stranger approaches the next table with a "Beg pardon", and when the man replies "Yes", he too receives a shot square in the chest. The process continues until I am left to warn the only remaining regular at the bar of the terror. I tell him there is a man shooting up the place but he only swigs his pint and grumbles "Bollocks." I watch the stranger tap the man on the shoulder, "Beg pardon." Looking up from his mug, the man gets a swift bang in the heart. Horrified, I watch as the stranger turns to me. "Beg pardon" he says, and I can only instinctively respond with "What can I do you for?"