Murphy’s Pub, part iii

Part i. Part ii.

He had been in the men’s room for a while. Trish glanced at the Guinness-issued wall clock for the third time—“After work, it’s Guinness Time!”—and was about to get up, when the bathroom door creaked open.
A different man emerged from the restroom. Continue reading


Murphy’s Pub, part ii

Part one can be read here.

He sat on the stool for a time, sipping at his beer, otherwise quiet. Trish stayed at her end of the bar, lost in her crossword. She checked how much beer remained of his pint every few minutes, but he seemed low maintenance as customers go. The jukebox was on, but turned low, so the bar was actually pretty quiet. Trish heard the man place his beer back on the bar, a creak from the stool, and the sound of Jeremy’s boots on the wooden floorboards. He walked towards her.
“Hey, uh, where’s yer bathroom?” Continue reading

Murphy’s Pub

Murphy’s Pub is a pub much like many others in New York City. Queens, specifically. A brick building, standing on a corner, with a face of molded wood. The molding appears black on this cloudy night, but in the light it runs a veneered pine green. With a pine green door. Gold handle. One bay window cut to the left of the door. Two Budweiser neon lights. White shutters frame the window. Continue reading