down the lane

the Captain wandered into the local public house. Terry behind the bar gave him a wink and a nod, and poured him two fingers of scotch, neat. Sunlight danced through the rear windows off the river, throwing dazzles off the bottles and the bar back mirror. Around eleven in the morning, it was as bright as it ever got in the Old Owl. Everyone looked snug and warm and settled, just the usual folk, old codgers mostly, and one or two younger roustabouts who had the morning off. Red haired Billy Corbin worked nights at the train yard, the Captain knew...he was probably about to head back to his rooms to sleep. The rest were like the Captain himself, at loose ends, just lounging at the pub with nothing better to do for hours.....