Perfect Timing

One of my fellow drinkers from local pub had one too many pints of Bulmers this evening. When leaving the pub for a cigarette, my friends and I thought it would be very funny to call the drunkard a taxi, even though he only had one pound and seven pence in his pocket. In our defence, he was incapacitated and needed a ride home!

As time went on, we thought he was going to disappear, and the evil plan would be foiled. However, as he staggered out the pub door into the night, a barman shouted into his face “Taxi for Byron!” The poor, confused soul put his hand into the air and said “I’m Byron”.

He hasn’t been seen since. I don’t know if he made it home, and if he did; how his taxi fare was paid.

Keep off the alcohol, kids.