A Bad Life

Fire Lake

Thursday Night

Jimi parked Pinkies bike... His bike now he thought, outside The Fire Lake pub. A big maori stood near the door dragging on a smoke. He him and slapped his back as he walked in. He looked around as he walked up to the bar. The place hadn't changed a bit. Even the row of unopened beer bottles with names written on them remained. He sat down on a stool at the bar and looked at the old man working the bar. He limped profoundly and used a cane to walk between serving customers. He limped over to Jimi and asked "what can I do ya for son?" "straight shot of Gentlman Jack and four bottles of Carlton Dry, unopened with a texta, Uncle Joe". Uncle Joe looked at Jimi harder then it hit him. He slowly smiled and then frowned as he pulled the texta and bottles from the fridge. He poured the whiskey and placed them all in front of Jimi as he slowly hobbled around the bar to embrace his nephew. "It's good to see you again, Nephew. I just wish this were a happier time for us all" Jimi returned the old mans hug and turned back to down the whiskey and wrote on the bottles. Bradford, Pinky, Jill. He stopped at the last bottle and tears silently slid down his cheeks into his beard. He hadn't even been able to name his child. He'd just ran like last time. Uncle Joe gently placed his hand on his nephews shoulder, "we both know what it would have been, son. It's OK" Uncle Joe limped back behind the bar and returned to serving the regulars. Most had heard the news by now and let Jimi be. Jimi knew it was Old Aunt Sarahs doing. He allowed a small smile at the thought of the old girls threats to regulars if they had bothered her favourite nephew. He gently picked up the un-named bottle and began writing.