'I'm bored of being depressed.', he said, grinning.
The crowd paid him no attention whatsoever.
'I'm going to get my life into whack. Straighten out my messes. Dust the cobwebs off those brains.', he persevered.
The crowd continued its demanding task of doing nothing at all. A small argument broke out between two card players, who had realised that the other had been cheating since the start of the game, six games ago.
'I'm not joking this time...', he said, to nobody particular but the entire populace in general.
The crowd ignored him pointedly, like fungus-on-the-wall. The small argument had started to show all the signs of a not-exactly-sunny nature combined with a bad hangover. In anticipation, money on tables was being pocketed, tabs were being settled, floors were being cleared.
The card players had pushed their chairs back, and engaged each other in a staring contest. The bargirl, shotgun in hand, was flirting with a douchebag who, oddly enough, happened to be dressed like a cowboy. The entire pub's attention inconspicously centred on the card-table, in the manner where nobody dares to look, yet everyone's watching from the corner of their eye.
A silence reigned. In the reigning silence, a single fly buzzed over the polished surface of the bar, until someone thoughtfully swatted it with a beer mug. Silence reigned again.
'Now look, young man, i'm talking here...'
Suddenly, he had the entire pub's attention. The two players advanced truculently, flanking him on either side. 'Whaddya want, twerp?', one of them ventured, in tones of carefully cultured menace.
'Er, forget it. I don't think you'd get it anyway.'
'Try us.'
