I wasn't sure quite what the fuck was going on, but I was certain that I had just seen a gathering of serpent like creatures mumble to each other in annoyed, warlike tones and then encroach upon the hallowed grounds of one of my favorite drinking spots. From the road, my eyes followed their bipedal forms filing through the door, one by one; an endless stream of reptilian ranks.

Surely, someone had to be taking the piss?

It wasn't the fact that they were lizards. Or armed. Or stomping around in large numbers. It was the fact that The Greyhound was, unlike the Silver Cup or the High Tap, a quiet place where I could be anonymous for a while and where the regular contingent consisted of a handful of old men with early onset memory issues. It was just the way I liked it, but now all of that had been spoiled.

I had half a mind to turn back down the road and find somewhere else; somewhere quiet. But options were few and far between. The Silver Cup was always rammed, and in any case I was staying there. Never shit where you eat. The High Tap still wanted to turn me over to the authorities after my last escapade there. Anywhere else was a substandard shithole that served poor quality ale and always ended up playing host to unscheduled bare knuckle boxing.

I sighed, flummoxed at my lack of choice. Pivoting, I frowned, and decided to bite the bullet. It would be noisy and surreal, but a pint was a pint and nothing was coming between me and a cold one today. As I reached the door, the noise level had already begun reaching irritating levels and I knew that it was only a matter of time before the drink would break down my already brittle filter.

Taking a deep, laboured breath, I pushed hard against the brass plate and strode in like I owned the place.