Blake Fielder

you sat in the greasy pub, arms against the sticky bar. the air smelt of beer and cigarettes, a few lads nearby playing at a pool table. the door opened with an excited jeer, a handsome looking bloke with a tattoo poking out under the sleeve of his polo. “barman, pint of your classiest german lager, please. at the double” he teased to the barman, drumming his hands against the bar as he cocked a smirk.

“like your tattoo.” he complimented you, nodding his head towards you as he waited for his drink. his cockney accent thick. “i like yours too.” you complimented back with a smile, looking at the tattoo under his sleeve.

“get ‘er a drink, quick, she likes ‘me tattoo.” he whispered loudly to the barman, making sure you heard him in hopes to make you chuckle- cocking his head to you, the smirk still on his face. “what you on?” he asked, referring to what drink you wanted.

Blake Fielder