There is no mistaking those moans and grunts. Is this what The White Horse had come to? A place steeped in history that was once a landmark of the community! No wonder the previous management had gone bankrupt.

Well things were going to change now.

“OPEN UP,” I roared, pounding upon the locked door.

Terry peeped in hearing the commotion. “What’s going on boss?”

“Bloody shaggers!” I inform him. “GET OUT or I’m calling the cops,” I continue pounding.

The door was hastily opened by a red nosed lad and an obviously inebriated woman.

“It’s not what you think. The lady was feeling a bit under the weather and I was helping her out.”

“In the gentlemen’s toilet? I can imagine what you were helping her out with.”

“You can’t talk to us like that. We are paying customers,” the woman slurred.

“You and your money…OUT… NOW…”

“How dare you,” she balked, continuing her shameless protests.

It was Terry’s iron grip that led the belligerent couple out the door, and finally out of the establishment.

I was still simmering as I shut the door, only to turn around to face a well dressed portly gentleman.
“Excuse me,” he asked, “why did you shut the door on my wife?”

 

In response to the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge of 9th July based on photo prompt by A Mixed Bag 2014

 

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