The irony of beer

On Friday afternoon,

Angelo gives Manx

double the usual amount of money for beer.

‘Where did this come from?’ Manx asks.

‘Pat … Patrick gave it to me,’ Angelo says.

Manx looks at Patrick

standing beside Angelo.

‘Bullshit,’ he says.

Manx counts off half the money

and stuffs it in his pocket.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Angelo asks.

Manx grabs Angelo by the shirt.

Angelo looks to Patrick for help.

‘Your mate’s too gutless to do anything,’ Manx says.

Angelo pushes Manx away.

‘I’ll buy the usual amount of beer,’ says Manx.

‘The rest of the money is going back to Mr Huth.’

‘You can’t—’ Angelo starts.

‘I can. Regard it as a …’

Manx tries to think of the right word.

‘A donation,’ I finish.

Manx laughs and looks deliberately at Patrick.

‘At least someone here has a brain,’ Manx says.

Patrick shrugs and walks away

leaving Angelo to swear at us

as if all that bad language

will convince Manx to change his mind.

In the bottle shop,

I walk up to the stack of Peroni beer

and tap the case.

Angelo is an Italian name, isn’t it?

Maybe he’ll enjoy the irony.