Wednesday

Yesterday there was not much going on. Three guests came and each had two beers.

6 gold coins in total have you earned.

And today... nothing.

It was only noon, but the fact that no one had shown up yet wasn't a good sign.

You stand behind the bar and clean the glasses. They're already clean, but cleaning them makes you feel like you're doing something useful. Mira was also standing in the kitchen and working. You couldn't be the only one doing nothing.

The door slammed open and a familiar face came towards you.

"Sup Gunther."

Your regular. At least one of them won't let you down.

The farmer sits down at one of the tables and you bring him a beer straight away. And a second one at the same time. You've known him long enough to know that it won't be just one.

He downed the first one within seconds and then took the second mug in his hand.

A sign that today was another shitty day for him.

"What's up, why so early?" you ask him.

The old farmer took a sip from the second mug and smiled wryly.

"Well, officially I'm in the field."

"And unofficially?"

"I'm hiding. From my wife. The children. The whole goddamn world."

He quickly finished the second mug and you brought him two more. He seemed to need it somehow.

"Our youngest is just screaming. And if not the baby, then my wife. There's never any peace."

You remember. About six months ago, the drinks were on the house because your friend here had become a father again. Was it the eleventh or twelfth child? You can't remember exactly.

"Normally *hiek when my wife is stressed, I throw her on the bed and fuck her for a good hour. After that, I usually have a few days of peace."

He put his head in his hands.

"The problem then though is when your wife is a fucking baby factory and it feels like she is getting knocked up immediately after every quicky. Why isn't she in her *hiek menopause by now?"

Your mate looks done. You go into the kitchen and ask him to prepare something, free on the house, of course. So while your wife started cooking, your friend downed mug after mug and got really drunk on the side.

When Mira brought him the food and a piece of cake, he could hardly think straight.

"Shit, you're pretty," he said to your wife.

Mira, who was used to such comments from guests, just smiled and wished him a good appetite.

Greedily he devoured the food and the cake while you continued to serve him beer.

When he had finished, Mira came again to clear the table.

"You *hiek remind me of my own wife, Milena. When she was *hiek twenty years younger *hiek." He examined your wife from top to bottom. You could see that he was probably imagining what your wife would look like under those clothes.

"How I'd love to get a glimpse of *hiek this..." he mumbled to himself.