irish pub


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irish pub

Working as a bar tender was certainly not a she’d have kept doing if she had had the possibility of choosing something else to do instead.

During day shifts it wasn’t too bad, she thought every time she had one. Since the was not too loud and the hours not too suitable for being drunk yet, she found herself having the chance of actually talking with people and sometimes even engaging with them in some fairly interesting conversations.

Unfortunately that did not happen too often and, when the new owner of the place had preferred to make of its business’s a much more profitable alcohol-based one, it was on that she ended up working most of the time.

At everything and everyone was different from what they were in the daylight. A relatively decent person during the day could often, with that little bit of alcohol in his system, become an indeed rather ghastly individual, if matched with the right – or in fact wrong – company and a general disorderly atmosphere which reigned in the pub especially on a Friday and a Saturday night.

On these occasions she could hardly stand the amusement on her ’ faces when they came to order their drinks, nor the rude comments on their , and yet she had to.

There weren’t many ways of hiding herself behind the counter, she was there, directly in front of everybody and had no choice: she had to face them. A quick movement of her hand, and the drink was served, a polite ”thank you” and then on she carried, thinking only about what she’d do when the shift was over.

She hated all that, but that was her job. It made of her an independent and self-sufficient woman, and she would have let no one take that away from her.

Texts by Laura ”Croft” Vivio

  • ApertureValue:
  • ExposureTime: 1/10 sec
  • FocalLength: 18 mm
  • ISOSpeedRatings: 1600
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