The little daughter open her eyes and woke up, her grandfather's long speeches made her fall asleep suddenly. There wasn't any aid for the mysterious wife and that was just a dream, a bad damn and bloody dream.
It was such a mad and unbelievable nightmare as has never happened her before.
"Are you here? Maybe, it's too late and prolix! Ok, it doesn't matter! We will continue tomorrow, same hour! Same place, same bar!" the old man laughed under the short silver mustaches he had on his thin mouth and they were dirty of Irish whiskey, the same he was sipping in that while.
"No, granddaddy! Come on, I listen to you! As you see, I'm all ears!" the little granddaddy's girl smiled returning to reality, she rubbed her eyes and lift them up till meet those grandfather's ones who cleared his throat before telling about his past again.
A voice whistled in adult Lorraine's ears, bartenders needed of her own creativity for another time. She was drawing her last cake when her imagination fell down again.
That vision was still there, in front of her eyes. Lorraine stood up and took the blonde haired woman's hand.
"Come on! I've an idea, at first! We have to wash these, ok?" she said moving her head, the other one nodded and re-came on their steps together but before she gave a little glance at her pocket watch rapidly.
Just for a little bit, lusty for such a brief while. It was 4 o'clock yet and the sunrise was nearly appearing everywhere they would have put on their small eyes.
The two women started to ride among the sandy avenues she met. Practically, they passed through and beyond streets, squares making a certain disorder in all over the mid-town.
Lorraine has been looking for a nursery, an hospital or even better a pharmacy. There wasn't any similar trace at that moment there, she was completely hopeless and gave herself as lost.
The girl didn't know anything about that monstrous city in the heart of England's ass. There were only houses or even better slums to loom her limited sight.
It was still dark and she couldn't see enough, it seemed too be nearly to a wide countryside. The widest she has never met for all her not too much long breath she has spent before then.
She heard different voices telling some name, they tasted too strange as that place and those faces she glimpsed with her corner of the eye for all that little while of her risky lifetime. Only at last minute she realized what they meant to say, that unison word represented just the name of that local quarter or better Digbeth, the boho zone of the city it has always been before.
Lorraine was still looking around for a while and only at the end noted they've reached something as similar as a Pub. The red lights signs shined discontinuous on the grey and brown of the corner road and she doubted enough before trying to enter there.
"Wait!" she ordered again, Lorraine thought it might be a whorehouse "Old Crown Pub!" that girl read and rolled her eyes, when she was sure there wasn't another thing to be suspected about Lorraine opted to move in.
"Hail, oh! Sorry, I don't know you were closing!" she hadn't either the time to finish this phrase that was interrupted by the waitress who was sweeping the floor, her eyes was as shame as next to cry out.
"Not, be quiet! Come on!" the black apron woman smiled, this one stopped sweeping for a while and looked at her as she retook to tell.
"We need to go to the toilet!" the barmaid was interrupted again.
"Ah, good! Over there on the left!" the black ponytail girl exclaimed telegraphic.
"Ah, ok and thanks!" with these words, the two women went away.
Writers from Hell:
Old Crown Pub is a real Tavern in Birmingham and is among the most ancient ones of the Second City and you can find it only in Deritend, that part of the town which turns around the crowded High Street and gives shops and other similar things by the Custard Factory. The complex, situated in reconverted Victorian factories, offers creative cinematographic house offices, independent boutiques, a cinema and fashionable restaurants. In the nearby, there's the Old Crown Pub with woody parquet built in XIV century, while the industrial sites of some zones, as Floodgate Street, are decorated with graffiti.
