The Ripped T-shirt I - Him

After three pints of strong lager Mike was the king of the pool table in The Royal Oak Bars. Happy hour on drinks is 4 – 6  each afternoon including a free pool table. The house rules are winner stays on until beaten. Mike would stay on the table until around 7pm when he’d hit his eighth pint.

‘Fire up number nine Jerry.’ Mike said in the loud voice drunk’s use when they are packing back the drinks.

‘You got six shots of Tequila waiting for you Mike.’ Said Jerry the obese barman.

‘Rack up em then DICK HEAD!’ Mike was transcending from fun drunk to fighting drunk.

Squinting to read a text message through one eye, he thought he read that Verity was leaving him. So he ordered two more shots and got ready for a showdown at home.

Walking into the cold January air did little to appease Mike’s mood. His mind was stuck in a spin cycle that just screamed bitch. She said she would leave him if he hit her again, but she is a silly cow like that friend of hers Enid.

Arriving at his home he could not find his keys so kicked out at plant smashing the pot and blaming it for the mess. The booze swelled inside him and he lost control. He entered the door and marched to the kitchen where his wife stood with his best T-shirt.

His favored right hand for rib punches was ready to go to work.