George's Tavern

Standing outside O'Shannessy's, George holds a cigarette close to his mouth.  At the sight of Sarah coming down the street, his smoke-stained moustache twitches into a grin.  "Mornin' Sarah! What brings you into town?  Run out of jars, again?"

Sarah balances her shopping basket on her hip. "Nope.  I finished the strawberries this weekend, and the raspberries wont be ready for another week or two.  Nahhh, I just came in to see what's fresh at the market.  Where's Henry?  You two are like peas in a pod. I hardly ever see one of you without the other."

"Yeah, well, the wife's got him on a short leash these days.  Apparently he misplaced last week's paycheck, and Millie's got him working at home." George chuckles, and with a twist stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray.  Unaccustomed to being empty, his hands comb back a strand of greasy, grey hair.

"Say, George, you want me pick up anything for ya at the market?"

"Nahh."  George reaches into the pocket of his tattered sport coat and pulls out his pack of cigarettes.  "You go on ahead and enjoy yourself.  It's a beautiful day."  He bends forward as he cups his hands and strikes a match.  With a drag and a puff, he leans back against the tavern wall.