“I’ve only got two days so we should get going,” said Ric. “What bar should we go to?”
Rav smiled.
“You don’t need to go to bars anymore,” he said.
“What? You’re messing with me, right?”
“Well, you can. But you don’t need to.”
“What do you mean I don’t need to? How else am I going to pull?”
“Where’s your phone?”
“Here.”
Rav downloaded the app for Ric.
“What is it?”
“Trust me. It works.”
“Holy shit.”
“I know. Make sure you tick the right boxes.”
“Ok, ok, but have you seen what’s on here?”
“Yes. Some of my friends started it.”
“What happens now?”
“Well, we go to the pub on the corner and wait to see how you get on.”
“I thought I didn’t need to go to bars.”
“We don’t. I am buying you a pint. As a mate.”
“Oh, in that case, let’s go.”
Rav came home a while later. He had some dinner and went to bed.
The doorbell rang at 2 am.
Rav sighed, put his boxer shorts on and went to answer it.
Ric was slumped against the front door. He was covered in blood and had a black eye.
“I told you to be careful which boxes you ticked.”
“That was brilliant, mate. Going back tomorrow night.”
“The evening isn’t over yet,” said Rav and kicked him in the balls.
*
“You know what,” said George. “I can just see Mark getting himself into this kind of pickle.”
“Why does he need to use a phone?” said Giorgio, snorting.
“He didn’t know he’d end up in a fight.”
“You English always end up fighting. Even in bed.”
“Firstly, Mark’s Australian. Secondly, he could get himself in a fight anywhere. Even in a phone box.”
“Like your painter friend?”
“No, I think he’s a different kettle of fish.”
“What have fish got to do with it?”
“Nothing. He was already hooked.”