Gran Canaria Trade lounge, AKA The Trade'n Drunk

[jammi]

The door opened a crack and a slight man insinuated his way into the room. He had a manner that bordered on furtive, but stopped just short of suspect. His sidling movement and shifting eyes would almost lead a casual observer to believe he shared a distant ancestor with the common crab.

If one were to knock him on the head and rifle through his pockets, a wallet containing a very well used credit chit would have been found, along with an ID card that identified him as Matthew Watts, a Bowex colonial dockworker. An unruly stubble had laid claim to his chin, while bloodshot veins ran amok across his eyes. The sour smell of old alcohol wafted from his pores.

He stopped short of the bar and his stomach rolled. Someone had let an animal wear clothes and sit in people-chairs. He raised a shaking finger to point in horror. "What the hell is that 'bom'nation?"

---

News article library, feedback and content requests.