14

“Nothing makes a beer taste better than an icy glass,” thought Gareth as his eye wandered across the bar. “Unless it’s an ice-cold pint in the pub when you’re underage.” He smirked.

Gareth had been visiting this particular pub for the last five months. He liked it. It was dark and moody with just a hint of stale smoke, spilled beer and good cheer.

He usually sat in the corner across from the end of the bar. It put him near the waitress station and far away from the video lottery terminals. Gareth didn’t much like the kind of person who habituated the VLTs; while it was likely his imagination, they always reeked of despair and endings. Time seemed to have fled their auras, and they sat there waiting for everyone else in the bar to realize that there was no more, this was the end.

Gareth knew they were wrong. But nothing he could do or say would ever convince those near-corpses that hope or tomorrow belonged in this dim, cold room. Still, he watched the people, hummed along with the music and sipped his pint. Life WAS hope. Who cares if age seemed to breed despair. Gareth was young.

“I am young,” he declared out loud to the advertising-laden coaster. “And I still know how to have fun !” Gareth tipped his chair back and scanned the room. “I won’t lose hope like these lost souls. I won’t give in to the weight of a world not of my own making.”

As the waitress walked by and smiled, Gareth nodded and swept his hands by his near empty pint glass. The waitress’s smile broadened and she nodded back. Gareth settles back and waited for his next beer.