An eight year old girl walks into a dirty bar. It's mid afternoon and there are only a few drunks and dealers hanging around. The barman is in the corner molesting a fruit machine for all his money's worth; he didn't see the little girl come in. She approaches the bar slowly and climbs up onto a barstool. One of the older farts glares at her, his eyes damp and bloodshot, heavy in the smokey sunlight. She looks back at him, brow furrowed, a serious look on her face. Her dark brown eyes are unblinking in the tobacco smoke.
The barman suddenly shouts "Fucking useless!", and slaps the glowing bandit with a sweaty palm. He turns back to the bar, stops in his tracks as he sees the little girl, then strides towards her, voice raised.
"You're not supposed to be in here . . ."
"But it's the afternoon," she replies - "Kids are allowed in in the afternoon."
Taken aback, the barman nervously takes a cloth from his pocket and points it at her, "You . . . out . . . now."
"But I'm allowed . . ." she says, "I'm allowed to be here."
Feeling threatened, the barman starts to sweat. He's never got on with children, and this one's rebelious. Deep down, he knows he's out of his depth, and that scares him. "Now . . . who told you that? . . . You're going to have to leave."
Her unexpected presence in his everyday world wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to be here. This was wrong. He was going to have to throw her out, but he was afraid of touching her. He half steps towards her, arms reaching forward, but he's uncertain and hesitates. She pulls away from him, gripping the barstool tight with both hands.
"Fuck sakes, lad!" says the old scowler from the corner, "Leave her be." The barman and the little girl both look at the old boy hunched behind his table. Slowly, he stands, wobbles, and then calmly shuffles over to stand beside the little girl.
"Here . . . ", he puts a coin on the bar, "Get her a lemonade or something will you." The barman, relieved someone else has taken charge, scuttles off behind the bar to pour the drink. The little girl looks at the old man. She's close enough to smell the stale beer on his breath and see the stains on his fingers. "Thanks" she says. "Your welcome" he says, half coughing. He strokes her cheek kindly and she smiles. Slowly, the old man staggers back to his seat, and the barman serves the lemonade in a tall glass with a straw. The little girl spends the rest of the afternoon sitting happily on the barstool, sipping her pop.
