I Buried Paul

Thomas Lakewood

As the Sun came up birds began to sing, people began their day and cars were starting up. But John was up all night thinking about Paul. And The Spaniards Inn.

"I wonder. I wonder if it's a real place. If it means something."
John said to himself.

KNOCK KNOCK

Someone was at the door.
John slowly went to answer it. Feeling anxious for some reason. He opened it as slowly as possible.

"HELLO!"

It was George. Looking strangely happy.

John: what the hell do you want.
George: Bit rude. I came to cheer you up.
John: I don't need cheering up.
George: Yeah. Sure you don't. Just come on. I'm going to get food.
John: I'm not not hungery.
George: you need to eat. Come on.

John stepped out the door then turned around to lock it.
"Lets go then." John said miserably.

George took them to a small cafe in london. Not that far from where they were at the time.
When they arrived they went straight to order.
Woman: what can I get ya?
George: I'll have...err... I'll have a... tea. Yeah I'll have a tea please.
John: Jesus, George. Take your time.
Woman: and you?
John: I'll have a tea aswell.
Woman: alrighty.
John: Oi. George. Have you ever heard of The Spaniards Inn?
George: The Spaniards Inn? No.

"I've erd of The Spaniards Inn." A voice came from the back of the room. It was an old man with a black hat on, a white t shirt and black shorts. But no shoes.

John: oh have ya now.
John laughed a little.
Man: ye. Why is tha funny boy?
John: No. Not really. Just. You-
Man: I what?
John: you look a little mad.
Man: who the fuck do ya think ya talkin' to?
John: I don't know.
John: speaking of not knowing you. Who are you?
Man: I am Thomas Lakewood. I used to own The Spaniards Inn.
John: oh. Right. Hi. Im-
Thomas: John Lennon. Ye. The singer in tha band or whatever.
John: uh yeah.
George: The Beatles.
He says as he smiles.
Thomas: yeh whatever.
John: anyways, you said you knew about The Spaniards Inn? So it's real?
Thomas: of course it's fuckin real. It's aunted though.
John: haunted? Okay.
John laughed at the fact.
Thomas: what? Dunna believe in ghosts.
John: oh, no! I do. It's just. Haunted? As if. You know? Like what would haunt an inn?
Thomas: ghosts you fuckin idiot.
John: wow. That was a mean. Like what the fuck are you trying to say? I made a point and now you're being a fucking dick about it. Well fuck yo-
George: ANYWAY, WHERE IS THIS SPANIARDS INN? MR LAKEWOOD SIR.
Thomas: Here. A map. I circled it in red. Now get tha fuck outa here you stupid "Beatles".
He raised his voice from whispering to louder than a fire alarm.