[Content warning: Reference to alcoholism and child neglect]

Harry didn't drink much. By comparison. But sometimes he got so sick and tired of his wife's drunk antics that he would make sure to take the money that was left before she could, and go and get himself a drink. Like today. He had worked hard to bring in money. It was his right. She had been useless all day. So if anyone judged him, they should know that it was her fault really. 

He sat at the bar with his pint and pipe, listening to a conversation that two fishermen on his left were having about innovative fishing methods, and Harry broke in every once in a while to share his expertise on the subject - even though he had never gone fishing once in his life.

Generally speaking, Anthony preferred drinking in the safety of his own home. It was quite unlucky for him, then, he had run out of anything to drink, there. Those circumstances essentially forced him to go to a pub and drink there. He used to drink in pubs more often, but that habit was fairly close to dying — only to be revived today.

Anthony stepped into the pub, making a beeline for the first open seat he saw — it was next to a man that seemed to be occupied by bantering with two other men. Anthony figured that he wouldn't be bothering anyone by sitting there, then, and just sat down there and quickly ordered himself something to drink. To an outsider, he just appeared to be a nervous- and jumpy—looking fellow. And, well, to be fair, he was actually all those things.

The first two beers had not only made Harry an expert in fishing matters, but also a rather too friendly with strangers. He nodded at the younger man next to him, glad to have another person to talk against to. "And what's your tale of woe, mate?" he asked. As he was distracted, the two fishing men behind him quietly slid down from their chairs, took their drinks, and removed themselves to the farthest side of the pub.

Anthony's plans of simply drinking alone and not socializing with anyone backfired, as the man who he had sat down next to actually started talking to him. "I, uh– I don't have 'a tale of woe' or anything. Really," he said, taking a small, shaky sip from his glass. Of course, he had multiple tales of woe, but he wasn't about to talk about them with this random stranger.

"Ah..." said Harry, determined to keep the conversation going. "Are we celebrating then?"

"I don't– I don't know," Anthony stuttered. He wasn't equipped to deal with this situation. "I'm just here to drink, really." He raised his glass to his lips to try and take another sip from it, but his hands being shaky just meant that he spilled some of it right on himself. Which didn't help his already frail mental state at all.

"Well... That's a perfectly good reason to come to a pub." Harry encouraged. "Me an' the lads were just talking about fishing." He turned back to the 'lads' only to find two empty seats. "Oh..."

Anthony nodded slowly, trying to not start crying about the spilled drink. It was working, for now. "Oh. That's...cool, I guess. Fishing, and all that, I mean," he said, just trying to power through this entire thing. He absolutely didn't think 'fishing and all that' was good but he was not in the mental state to tell this guy to just fuck off.

"Aye... It's an honest trade," he said. Clearly his friends had run off because they had to get up early. Good hard-working folk they were. "What do you do for a livin', then?"

Anthony took another small sip from his glass, and this time he didn't spill it anywhere. That was good, at least. "Oh. Well. Not much at all, I guess," he admitted. It was incredibly embarrassing to admit that to a stranger, and it served little purpose except making himself regret saying that and reminding him that he really does need to get a job soon. Good going, Anthony.