Happenings in a warm pub

"Then I slammed my fist down on the table and said. 'No! Freedom before money' and punched the sucker right in his left eye!" An enthusiastic man shouts from across the room to a small crowd of cheering pub folk

Though the man of this story paid little to no attention to him. Letting his eyes wander about as he sipped his beer

The warm atmosphere of the bar wrapped around him like a blanket, but he was still cold. At least in the metaphorical sense.

Despite it being the middle of a perplexingly harsh winter it was warm inside the bar. The small fires that lit the place as well as the heat of other beings kept the room temperature a warm 18-20° degrees. Which differed greatly from the negative zeros that flooded the outside of the bar.

If the man didn't know any better he surely would've thought that the pub must've been magic to be able to stay so warm.

The man took a deep breath of the warm air and leaned further back in his chair placing down his drink on his lonesome table.

Scanning his surroundings once more. Trying to will himself to go talk to someone while he waited for... Well whatever it is he was waiting for, but he never really got over that feeling of intimidation that he got when attempting to talk to someone new. The same feeling his parents once so insistently told him would fade as he grew older. Not that it mattered now what they had said now considering they were dead somewhere. His dad taken down by a gang named the bear and his mother blown to smithereens by one thing or the other.

The man felt a pang of regret at the thought of his most certainly dead parents, but it lasted only a millisecond. He and his parents were never on the best of terms. Well maybe when he was young and still had that hopeful gleam in his eyes, but those days were long gone and honestly he didn't want anything to do with them.

He had once tried repairing their relationship, but even then they never could connect properly. It felt the same as shoving a group of unfamiliar people in a room of people and having them say the worst things they've ever done while the others audibly judge them.

Then expecting them to be all gung ho with each other at the end.

The man closed his eyes for a few moments, taking in a sniff of the air as the sweet scent of what he assumed was pie wafted in his general vicinity, coupled along with the cheers of his fellow pub goers.

He opened a singular eye confirming what he thought was happening, as the owner of the pub cut up a pie and handed it to the pub goers surrounding him.

A waitress was kind enough to notice the man sitting lonesome in the corner and bring him a pie of his own to enjoy. He muttered a small thank you and curtly bowed his head in thanks. In case the waitress had missed his audio thanks. She seemed to register both, however giving a quick your welcome in reply before going back to her more cheerful group of patrons.

The man leaned forward and took a small bite of the pie. The sweetness that rushed over his tongue immediately made him give a small hum of satisfaction. He had never really been the most fond of pie, but really these days it was difficult to come across anything sweet, considering the countries borders had been basically shut down and the two previous harvests had not been fruitful at least not for those lower than the first class.

So it was really quite surprising that the owner had enough ingredients to make a pie, but the man wasn't going to question it. There'd really be no point doing so.

He took another bite of the pie, savouring each individual chew as the succulent taste spilled in with every clamp of his teeth.

Finally he finished his pie, taking a sip of his nearly empty mug of beer. It was definitely one of the best things he had eaten in awhile, but he was sure he would once again have the ability to enjoy something like that again.