One Dollar

One Dollar.

The Irish bar on Fifth and Main was in full swing, a typical Sunday night. This particular Sunday was December 14th, 2003, and the clientelle were in especially high spirits. The bar was three deep, men and women wrestling to be served, the barstaff doing their best to respond fairly and quickly. The noise was thick and constant, something that had begun to bother the elderly occupant of booth number three. He had been sitting alone for over an hour and had been checking his watch frequently. Sporting a baseball cap, football jacket and jeans, he resembled every other retired working man in there that night and sat sipping his third whisky. He produced a cellphone from his pocket and dialled again. The dialled number didn't answer, something which appeared to annoy him, displayed through the disappearance of the contents of his glass in one movement of his arm. As he returned the empty tumbler to the table, another appeared next to it, this one with a fresh measure. The hand delivering this gift belonged to a similarly dressed man who stood adjacent lifting a glass to his lips.
"Hello son, on time as usual," the man sarcastically ventured without lifting his head.
"Held up, traffic, you know how this city is," replied the newcomer.
"Yeah, the traffic." The man was a little disgruntled and it was beginning to show.
"You made me wait on purpose. It's not enough that I lost the bet, you make me wait to boot."
The newcomer smiled and unzipped his jacket, reached for his glass and held it aloft.
"To Iraq, and the fruits that will follow."
The sitting man looked the other in the eye.
"You were lucky. Hell, I'd have had him too if Blair was in power back then."
"Maybe so dad. Cheers."
The two men clashed their glasses together and swallowed the whisky in one.
"So," said the still standing man, "pay up pop, a bet's a bet."
"Yeah, a bet's a bet. Here you go, one dollar. I can't believe you found him in a hole."
The newcomer smiled and folded the one dollar bill neatly and placed it in his inside pocket.
"So," the older gentleman began, "who has the privilege of the wager on Afghanistan?"
The other man displayed a wry smile and walked towards the door.
"It's a bit more than a dollar Dad," he said waving as he left.

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Inspiration from the classic movie Trafing Places.

Sendran.

[edit on 12/4/2010 by Sendran]