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 if he really is coming over to flirt or if he’s coming over to punch me. One blow with that meteoric fist and he might snuff me out like the dinosaurs, so I suppose I’ll have to dodge fast.
