WHEN&WHERE: 11:11pm, Some dive bar -ish pub thatâs not One Manâs Trash because Boone doesnât want to get jumped.Â
WHO: Open to all!
He was in a pub, sipping on a brewski, scrolling through his phone becoming a victim to the void. This was how Boone Hannigan unwound after a day of hard work.
After a job was completed, the man often found himself too full of adrenaline just to go home. He needed something to take the edge off, a beer usually did the trick. If one didnât then he tried a second. Then a third. Fourth. Fifth. So on and so forth. Sometimes, when he found himself in an establishment like this one, heâd be chatty. Despite the neck tattoo, Boone could be a friendly guy and strike up a conversation with anyone whoâd bite. Sometimes, it was an old barfly, theyâd shoot the shit and Boone would wonder if he was getting a glimpse into his future. Other times, it would be a pretty, little thing and Boone would wonder something similar.Â
However, tonight was not one of those nights.
Boone was not looking to make friends of any kind. All he wanted was to sit at the bar, drink his beers, like a couple thirst traps on Instagram, chain smoke half a pack and then go the fuck home.
Just as easy as Boone could make a friend, he could make an enemy. When the empty seat beside him was claimed with eager hands, when the stool squeaked as it was being dragged away, Booneâs head shifted towards them. He barely looked at the fellow patron, in fact, he didnât at all. His eyes were still glued to his phone, his fingers double tapping the screen, and a heart appeared in between a pair of tits.Â
Even so, Boone couldnât help but be an asshole.Â
âYo,â he began, âYouâre not gonna ask if its taken?â