He walked in like a cloud.
People stopped talking to stare at him. They shook their heads in disgust.
“Over here,” I said.
He saw me and started over.
“I won’t have the likes of him in my pub,” said John, standing behind the bar. “Not after what he did to my wife.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “There’ll be no trouble. Right?”
“No trouble.” He sat down, opposite me. “It’s not his time.”
“What do you want to drink?” I asked.
I looked to John, who had been listening attentively. He had already started to pull the pint.
“I’m not wanted here. Did you see how they all looked at me?”
“They’re still looking,” I said. “I thought you would’ve got used to it by now.”
“Yeah, well… it doesn’t get any easier.”
John came over, carrying the pint of bitter in his chubby grip. He never usually brought the drinks to the tables.
He stood next to my guest and poured the pint over his head.
“That’s for my wife,” he said.
People clapped and cheered, but Death didn’t do a thing. He couldn’t, because it wasn’t time.
Finally, he stood up, dripping.
“See you tomorrow, John.”
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