Mona's Friday Word -- Cloud
‘It’s not the same at all,’ he said, clouds of smoke around his head as he exhaled. His fingers, yellow-brown and wrinkled, let the fag dangle. ‘Used to be, up to Burke’s you’d go for a night, and listen to the band. You’d sit and have your pint and some good craic, and the little ones’d chase around, and…’ he took another drag.
‘People caught up, you see?’ He shook his head. His niece, the unmarried one, brought in a tray. She poured two glasses of 7Up, then added some whiskey.
‘Put a little more color in that one for him, Agnes,’ he said, looking at the heavy clouds outside. ‘Dirty old day. We should be down to the White House, having a pint.’ Another drag. ‘But I won’t leave my friend behind,’ he said, looking at his fingers, then back at me. ‘No one does. So no one goes anymore. Pick up your drink at an off-license, take it home, smoke all you want.’ He shook his head. ‘Lonely. Haven’t seen my granddaughters in… how many days is it Agnes?’
‘There you have it then.’