pointlessness

“chirrup, boy” said Colin, the barman, “you be careful out there, it be a dark, cold night,
and them tracks are treachourous underfoot.” Grim meandered his way towards the exit, briefly losing his balance as he slipped on a puddle of spilt beer, grabbing hold of none other than the vicar, for support. Grim moved his head towards the vicar’s, the vicar turning his away to avoid both Grim’s gaze and his hot breath, ripe with the overwhelming fumes of beer and pickled eggs. Grim whispered slowly, his words framed by small, deep laughter, “May your God be with you, wherever you be.” He held his unsteady stance for a few moments and then moved off, finally making it to the exit door. He pulled at it, teetering back a little, took one final glance at the vicar, and went out into the cold, dark night. [crikey, I hate to think what’s going to happen next - ed.]

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