The Lothian

Shuffling round pubs on my own has almost obliterated any unease I once had at approaching dodgy places but for a nice bolt of nostalgia, the Lothian brought said unease rushing back. As I stepped through the door I was confronted with a bright, tacky-​looking kind of pub with a huge curved bar. Well, that and the concrete gazes of the six or seven locals who were scattered about the place.
After asking for a series of drinks and being told none of them were available, I settled for bitter and sat down. The locals found this time to relax and chat. Christ, how they chatted. Some of it was about their genitals. The rest was about what they do with their gentials in the shower. Judging from the distances between where they were sat I deduced that they weren’t friends and instead just met at the pub to talk to whoever was there about horrifying things. Not one for the kiddies.
Or sane adults.