David wakes, he stumbles over the bar nonchalantly, blatantly still drunk because he fails to notice the carnage before him. He takes a seat in front of Tim's mangled corpse and rests his head flat down on the table.
"aye........tim.......augh........pint, tim..........a pint"
David has an eerie sense put over him, Tim always had something to say about David's drunkeness no matter what condition it was whenever he ordered a drink.
"Tim.......are ya there tim? Tim?"
David slowly tilts his head up to the horror before him, and the gasps of everyone around him watching.
"NOOOOOOOO TIM! AHHHHHHHHHHH YOU FOCKIN BASTARDS, ILL FOCKIN KILL YOU. WHO THE FUCK."
David reaches into his oversized cuffed trenchcoat pocket, brandishes a pistol, and slams it down to the countertop.
"Who the fuck was it ey? Cmon speak up. Ya may not ave known it at the tyme, but this bloke here, the bloke with the fockin sword stickin out of his face.......he was to marry my sister.......YA FOCKIN BLIMEY FOCKS."
Fred, not wanting hostility in his establishment, puts his hand on David's large shouler. David grabs his arm, not even realizing it is his longtime friend, and throws the small man over him. All the men in the pub rush David to subdue him. The gun's taken from his hands and placed behind the bar.
David's anger soon turns to sadness and remorse, he's left sobbing to himself over a bottle of pure grain alchohol at a table in a corner, to David, the corner looks a mile away from everyone in the room.
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