The bar was empty but for them. I just wanted to lock up for the day and not open for the night. I wanted to drink mint tea upstairs and watch television and go on the internet. But they were making light work of the Cork gin. “It was a dry town,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “was Toronto.” “Hideous Protestant bastards,” he said. “What’s this is next along?” I turned, coldly; I tried to look stern. “I’m afraid that’s a very cheap and nasty Spanish brandy.” “How did you know I was coming?” he said.
