#KidologyQuotes 19:
Conveniently situated at the corners of High Street and School Street, The Sun under Water was a large, square building with high plain windows, so that on dark evenings it appeared almost Hopper-like, except it was emptier and nobody wore hats. The barman, Mark, greeted everyone with equal disdain. He was short and bandy with crazed eyes, a failed author who seemed to think he was too good for the place; his customers, on the other hand, as he often explained when drunk (which was always), weren’t good enough.
Feeling flush and happy, Jim approached the bar. The pub was empty but Mark was scribbling something and ignored him: when Jim leaned over to see what he was writing he crooked his arm protectively like a schoolboy doing exams. His wrist was heavily bandaged again. When he’d finished composing another futile simile Mark looked up. He was roughly Jim's age, that no-man's land, that DMZ between young and mature: his face ghastly white; his teeth made Shane MacGowan look like all the Osmonds, pale blue eyes visibly hinting at some awful internal battle raging, like he couldn't decide whether to fuck you or fight you. He was chippy and had a strong Yorkshire accent which after a few drinks was impenetrable.