Worcester

The staff of the Indian restaurant were crowning in their contempt. We’d been bowling, straight from work, beers by the lane. Two strikes in a row was a peak at about 7 pints, but then straight down the gutter. A foreshadowing drunk. The others from work went off to eat, but lost, we instead called at the Swan, for 2 nicks of vodka and orange. We arrived late to the restaurant.

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