Joe's pub had that flat grey carpet that comes in roll-fulls at warehouses and is the cheapest option. It's a small, rectangular room. Three pool tables line the left wall, and to the right is an old-fashioned wooden bar. It's the kind of place were the youngest man is probably about sixty four. And there are no women.

Except Clair, who is also the youngest woman and the only woman at age twenty seven. The men accept her with a wariness, but allow her because she wears plaid shirts like them, sips beer like them, and listens to them complain about how the society has disintegrated since they stopped contributing. Clair pretty much loves them alot.

At the moment, though, she's not showing it. She's kicking some serious geriatric ass at pool.

"Awh, Awh, Clair-Bear." She actually loves it when Paul calls her that.
"Sorry Paul, I had too."
"Awh, Awh, how much do I owe you know?"
"Two, Paul."
"Two?"
"Ya, two."
"Since when?"
"Since I won twice."
"We played twice?"

Clair grinned and put down the pole. "How bout we split the bargain. I'll buy you a beer, and you'll buy me one. Sound good?"

It takes Paul a moment, but when he gets it, a cute little grin spreads across his face. "You're a good kid, Clair Bear."
"I think so."
Paul chuckled and the two headed to the bar. Clair slips onto the stool after helping him (but discreetly, since he's infront of the other 'guys') into his own. The beer is ordered, they pay, and then switch, grinning like children who think they've duped a parent and sip at the beer the other has payed for.

Benjamin Drake found his way into the pub rather randomly. He realized that he didn't exactly represent Joe's typical bar fly, but then he didn't really fit in at any bar he went too. He was too home-spun for the places brainiacs liked to drink, he wasn't at all trendy or hip enough for most clubs, and he looked too intellectual for most blue collar bars. As long as there wasn't blaring music with a teeth rattling base line and a bar stool he was fairly happy.

The young man's back ached after spending hours in his store doing inventory, and hadn't even touched on the back store room yet. That would be left for tomorrow. Now he just wanted a glass of cold brew. Tomorrow, after another 12 hours of stacking and sorting books he'd probably move onto whiskey. Beneath his beaten black leather jacket was a was a gray t-shirt dark in spots from dust and some spilled coffee from earlier in the day.

Sitting at the end of the bar, he had observed the game of pool while people watching the other patrons occupying the stools at the bar. He might be the youngest guy in the room, but he liked this place. The jukebox played a constant stream of classic rock music, they had his favorite microbrew on tap, and it wasn't far from his apartment.