The priest drinks Guinness. He sits and drinks. He reads a newspaper.
He is humming. I listen. He is humming ‘The Sun Has Got His Hat On.’ The sun has no hat. The hat would burn. Also, the priest was lying. Outside it is very cloudy and cold.
The priest has a dog. The dog looks bored. It sits beneath the table with its eyes open.
I am sitting two tables away from the priest. The dog is either a boy or a girl, I know this much. I try to stare at the dog’s genitals. I cannot tell. I crane my neck. The priest sees me looking at the dog’s genitals. I smile at the priest. The priest does not smile.