![]() On the other hand, I'd been aiming for the six. The white ball whispered across the felt, came off two cushions, and clipped the eight cleanly into a side pocket. Flynn the Barman's hams and played the shot anyway. I dropped my weight into the imprint of Mrs. A faint sheen of static danced on the TV on its shelf, and the green exit lamp sputtered by the door. The fluorescent over the table blinked out, then came back, and the glass-fronted fridge gave a low, lurching hum. ![]() Flynn the Barman's arse: nigh on a yard in the beam and formed like the cross-section of a cooking apple. I was bent over the pool table with one hand in the bald patch behind the D, which Flynn the Barman claimed was beer, but which was the same size and shape as Mrs. The lights went out in the Nameless Bar just after nine. ![]()
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