The closer she got, the younger she looked and by the time that she was placing the drinks before them, Nick was starting to wonder if the young woman was old enough to get legally served at the bar. “Is there anything else?” she asked in a high pitched squeak. When he responded in the negative, she smiled, then spun on her unnaturally high heels and teetered her way back towards the main bar. Lee, the chap, who took the orders for food, then made his way to their table and proffered “The B.B’s are highly recommended, they’re freshly made this morning and may I say, they’re just shit hot, gentlemen.” A broad smile then spread across his face, as he added, “Nineteen, and just in case you were wondering, Charlotte.” Nick, just laughed and Hugo simply looked crestfallen and exclaimed, “really?” “Yup, ‘fraid so,” said the departing waiter and he snorted back a giggle, as he went on his way. Upon reaching the bar hatch, he stopped and waited for a few seconds, counted to five, then, before moving on and placing the order on the spike, waited to see if his two old customers had managed to remember the rest of their usual order? “Yo, Lee man,” called Nick, as he suddenly remembered something, that he considered to be important, “Sorry man, but could you do us some of your patent onion rings?” Lee, was looking back, with a resigned, knowing look on his face and Nick, was smiling, as “good old Lee”, went through the saloon doors, into the kitchen area, with a resounding, “Ole.”
Hugo, was even contemplating the delicious concept of ordering another B.B, when the spell was broken by the ringing guitar of Greg Dharma and the sound of “Don’t fear the reaper,” by The Blue Oyster Cult, filled the bar. “I love this thing,” said Nick as he rose to replenish their drinks. “Same again?” “You bet,” responded Hugo, who was by this point, playing a small air guitar and rocking his head back and forth, in time to the music.