dark pub

You have dark pubs and you have extremely dark pubs.
The Crowing Chicken in our city is one of the latter category and it is our favorite place to go out on busy Saturday nights.
We always make sure we are there on time, so that our usual place at the end of the long bar is still free, from where we have a good view of who is entering and who is leaving in the light of a bare bulb above the door and where, in addition, we can vaguely see in a large mirror on the wall opposite us what is happening behind us in the dim light.
That’s how we like it: sitting in semi-darkness, but still being able to keep an eye on our surroundings.

Our heated argument of this afternoon has died down and we are able to get along again. So we took the bus here again.
We always come by bus and when it gets late we take a taxi back home.
It’s so busy in The Chicken on Saturday nights that I barely have room to go to the toilet. And my twin sister Mirra has to come along, of course.
The landlord, Fatso Frank, knows us well and in the meantime always keeps our bar stool free for us. He is a good guy, that Fatso. Too bad he’s so fat.
He himself also enjoys the various draft beers and gins a little too much that he generously serves for regular customers and for the many tourists who, even when it is dark outside, still manage to find the striking red front door in the black facade of the building. The fact that a large …