Attack Of The 50-foot Verbose Mutant Killer Fountain Pens From Mars, page 69 by Mark Cantrell
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"Why don't you piss off?" Nathan said. He took another sip of his beer. Someone jarred his arm, tipping the tepid fluid over him.
"Can't handle the pints, can't handle the bints," Richard sniggered.
"I don't see you doing so well"
"Me? I got nothing to prove. I can have any bint I want. When I want."
Nathan ruefully looked at the dregs of his beer. There was nothing else for it, he would have to get another. Maybe he could lose Richard at the bar? There was always hope.
"Living dangerously aren't we? Your second half!"
"Piss off, this is my third pint."
Nathan fought his way back to the bar. Too many sweating bodies crushed in. Someone stamped on his foot and he was jostled this way and that by the press of bodies.
Everybody was shouting at once, clamouring to be heard over the musical din and each other. The orders came thick and fast, the staff rushing to supply drinks and rake in the cash, sweating into the beer and playing off one customer against another. The barman passed Nathan over again, serving people left, right and behind. Humiliation raised his body temperature, slowly bringing his blood to the boil.
"Mine's a pint," Richard screamed in his ear, sharp pain causing him to miss the barman yet again.
"Get your own!"
"God! You're useless. Let me do it."
Richard stood on the footrest and leaned over. As soon as the barman returned Richard grabbed him and shouted: "A pint of bitter!" The man looked sourly at Richard and shrugged him off, but to Nathan's surprise he poured the pint.
"You grab me again and I'll fucking kill you!" he shouted as Nathan paid.
Richard laughed. "Any time, mate!"
People stared malevolently. The girl who should have been served first mouthed something obscene. The attention was too much. Nathan hurriedly moved away, cursing Richard's brash aggression even as he envied his confidence. It wasn't fair. The Richards of this world seemed to get everything. While more sensitiv