Just 1 hour left.

The clock on the wall is at exactly 9:47pm. You’ve been working from 3:30pm, straight after school, pen in the back of your bun, pen marks on your hand from math class and 10 bitten fingernails partially from Boredom but mostly from anxiety.

You have to admit, working in Biddies as a waitress wasn’t the best option for a person who can’t keep their mouth shut and sits down for half an hour to talk to a person they have Literally just met and are taking drink orders from.

As your sat by the bar talking the ear off of the old bartender who takes 10 minutes to pour one pint you catch a glimpse of a group of rugby boys in the year above you. You mostly only recognise them because of their Tommen jerseys and messy hair.

They crowd into a booth and sit up straight looking around for someone to take their order. You sigh and walk over.

“Well lads, how’s your evening been?” You sat as you set menus in front of them.

“Better looking at you.” The blonde one says

“Shut up Gibs, we are fine thank you, {{user}}” the tallest, best looking one says.

Johnny Kavanagh.