Solway had left half an hour ago, he’d cancelled his meal and had pulled up a stool at the bar. Hans current challenge to himself was to see how much of the hanging, upside-down bourbon bottle he could drink and still be able to book an Uber.

‘Anothery,’ he mumbled at the bartender.

‘It’s getting late, mate.’

‘Don’t care.’

‘We’re closing soon. This isn’t a pub.”

‘Jush gimme anothery and shush up.’ That sentence was possibly the politest thing he’d said all night. He smiled at himself in the mirror behind the bar and blew himself a kiss. ‘You’re a shpunk,’ he said to his reflection and gave himself the thumbs up as well for good measure.

‘Hello,’ said a feminine voice from beside him.

‘Goodbye’ he said without turning. ‘I’m fairly shoor I’m nart opp to whateva it ish you’re funking, so yeah, nope.’

‘Did you want some of my vegemite sandwich? I’m not sure what to do with it.’ A plate hovered under his nose.

‘Nope, I shed. Go ‘way. Or, send it to the kids in whatever cuntry it ish you send food to nowdaysh.’ He smoothed back his hair and sipped his drink, or smoothed back his drink and sipped his hair. It was one of the two, or both, or something.

‘Whish one,’ he wondered.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Navermend.’

‘I think you may have had one too many,’ said the American woman.

‘I’ve not had one enough, or shumfink.’ He looked at the lights above his head. ‘Oh noh.’

‘Oh noh?’

‘Yep. I’m fink I’m gunna chock. Go’way now. Bad fings.’ He waved a hand dismissively, fingers brushing against something soft and squishy. He turned his head. ‘Helloooooo.’

‘You might not wanna do that.’ admonished the bartender. Hans looked at his hand which was reaching out for…

‘Oh darr. Shilly moi wish ish me or …. shorry.’

The woman looked at his hand, which he’d been slowly withdrawing, then looked back up at him. Her face was unreadable.

‘Huh-oh. Jigger me nunkies,’ said Hans, and tried not to fall off his stool. He rose from it as swiftly as he could and headed for the… ‘Where’s the dunny goon?’

‘That way.’ The bartender pointed to the corner of the room. ‘Please try to make it.’

‘Okay-dokay.’

He stumbled off, not tripping over anything at all. Behind him he heard soft laughter. When he returned half an hour later, accompanied by the helpful bartender, the woman had gone.

‘Fank Gid,’ he said, then looked at the fuzzy screen of his phone. ‘I wonder if I can cull an uber.’

‘I’ll do it for you,’ said the bartender.

‘Gidoidear, You de man.’

‘No problem,’ replied the bartender. ‘You are too.’

For no reason at all that was the funniest thing Hans had heard all night.