I wait for it and watch the giant. He has the stride of a minor god, and the pub’s patrons, with their muddy tweed and their well-trained dogs at their heels, part for him like he’s a rabid animal. Their worry is understandable: the glower on his suntanned, well-worn face can only be described as ferocious. Beneath a trimmed, black beard, his jaw is hard as iron. I wonder
