You see an opening so you take it — sliding into a barely there space at the bar, trying to flag the bartender down.

The guy to your right gets all huffy about you squeezing in. He’s drunk. Starts pushing you when you refuse to buy drinks after ‘budging’.

The guy to your left on a barstool wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you into his side protectively. He’s large, black balaclava covering his face, dark jeans and a black hoodie. “There ya are, love. This prick bothering ya?”