Ufton – a little village in the middle of England. How I got here I can’t tell you. It has no shops, but it does have a bar. I decide to take a look.
It’s twenty hundred hours. The moon is bright and lights up the wheat fields
below the car park of The Black Heart Inn. But that’s too cute. I step inside the bar.
Couple suspicious looking characters playing pool. I walk past them trying not to make eye contact. Two dames are sitting at the counter. I sit next to them and order a beer, I figure they probably don’t know what bourbon is out here and I don’t want them to find out.
Next thing the two dames and the barman are playing blackjack. I’m thinking maybe I should sit somewhere else, guys like me can get shot for sitting at a bar when dames are playing cards. But just as I’m looking ’round for another seat, somewhere close to the wall, they ask me if I wanna play.
“Sure, But I don’t gamble, gambling’s for suckers.”
I get 21, then 21 again, But instead of reaching for his gun the barman asks if I know how to play liar.
“Sure”, I tell him. “But back where I come from we call it bullshit.”
“Where are you from anyways mister”, one of the dames asks.
“Leamington Spa” I tell her.
“You sure do talk weird” she says.