Hans By Hugh Cron – Warning – Strong Language.

Hans returned home from the pub.

He stomped up and down on the bare floorboards of his living room. He grinned as he thought about the neighbours moaning at the noise but never complaining.

Hans turned on the radio, it was more static than station. He settled down on his white painted kitchen chair that sat in the middle of the living room. It was cold. The wind whistled up through the floorboards. He pulled the collar of his donkey jacket higher and pulled his cap lower and then put his hands into his pockets. He shut his eyes to sleep.

Something woke him.

“Fucking cat.”

He looked at his watch and saw that it was two a.m. He smiled as he realised he only had eight hours before he was back in the pub.

…

Hans paced as he waited for the doors to open.

“Morning Hans.”

“You’re fucking late. I’m standing here freezing my balls off.”

“It’s just a minute past.”

“Fuck you! Pint!”

The barman poured him his drink and accepted the two pounds. There was no point arguing about the other one as that would have cost him a window.

Another regular came into the pub.

“Alright Al. Usual please.”

Hans pointed at his glass, “Fucking pint!!”

“Jesus, you better give him one as well. How you doing Hans?”

“Fuck off!”

“I see you’re your usual sunshine self.”

Hans began to stand. The man at the bar held up his hands, “Only joking. Make that a whisky for him as well.”

Hans sat back down.

Two strangers walked in and gave a generic ‘Hello’.

“Fuck off!”

“Jesus old yin, there’s no need for that.”

Hans stood.

The two men looked at each other and one shrugged, “Fuck sake. Sit down, we didn’t mean any harm. Barman, give the man whatever he is drinking.”

Hans sat when he saw the whisky and beer being poured.

The three men chatted as Hans glowered at them. They finished up their drinks and left.

“Soup!”

“…Okay Hans, just give me ten minutes.”

“Now!”

He undid his trouser buttons.

“Fuck! Tell you what Hans, how about I pour you another beer whilst you are waiting?”

He took his cock out, “I’m drinking a fucking whisky chaser, you fucking know that!”

“Jesus! Fine…A beer and a whisky whilst you are waiting for the soup.”

Hans put his cock away.

“Soup and a sandwich for Hans!!”

There was a quiet ‘Fuck sake’ from the kitchen.

“I want gammon.”

“I know.”

Hans had just finished his beer and was draining his whisky when Al brought his soup and sandwich over to him. He threw down two pounds, “Pint!”

No bother, I’ll bring it over.”

Hans dipped his sandwich into his soup.

“Are you enjoying that Hans?”

“Am I fuck, it’s shite!”

“I thought it might be. Sorry.”

The barman turned his attention to the racing that was on the TV.

The race had just finished when he was disturbed by a loud belch from Hans. He didn’t look round until he heard his chair move.

“See you again Hans.”

“Fuck you!”

Hans went into the toilet. Al knew he’d need to replace the toilet rolls that he’d take. He was thankful that he had given him the soup or there would have been a big shite waiting for him.

Hans returned home from the pub.

He stomped up and down the bare floorboards of his living room. He grinned as he thought about the neighbours moaning at the noise but never complaining.

Hans turned on the radio, it was more static than station. He settled down on his white painted kitchen chair that sat in the middle of the living room. It was cold. The wind whistled up through the floorboards. He pulled the collar of his donkey jacket higher and pulled his cap lower and then put his hands into his pockets. He shut his eyes to sleep. Hans smiled as he knew the cat wouldn’t annoy him.

He had only five hours to go before he went to the church for his dinner.

 

Hugh Cron