ONE WEEK PRIOR

"Oi! Harrison! Get your head out of your ass, you've got tables to clean." Brian ordered from the bar. George jumped at his sudden tone.

"Y-yes sir. On it." He grabbed his ratty tea towel and plastic container, holding dirty plates and used glasses and dashed to a table. There were a couple of empty pints and, lucky him, the shattered remains of a shot glass. "Shit." he muttered under his breath. George picked up the pieces, cutting himself in the process. " Ow! Son of a bitch." He said a bit louder, nearly dropping the broken glass. The shards were thrown in the trash as George sucked on his finger, faintly tasting whiskey and copper. The empty glasses he placed in his busboy box thingy (A/N: what the actual fuck is it called), picked up the tip and pocketed it, and wiped the table free of peanuts and beer. Abbey Road, the dive bar George worked at, was almost always slow in customers. The people who come here being usually old codgers who play cards and reminisce about the "good ol' days" and the occasional laid-off businessman who would end up passed out on the bar. It wasn't Brian's fault that his pay wasn't great, this place was his home and was owned by his family since the '60s. But it didn't attract as much attention as it used to in it's hay day. George knew all the customers by name and they all tipped him nicely. But as he was coming back from the sink for more dirty dishes, the bell on the door clinked. Standing in the doorway was a tall man with auburn hair, round glasses perched on his long nose, and was wearing an expensive-looking suit. He didn't look familiar to George. And to be honest, he looked intimidating and important. 

"Evening mister. Sit anywhere you like." Brian told the man. He nodded and sat himself on a barstool. "George, could you take this one? I've got to sort something out." He pulled his vibrating phone out of his pocket and answered it, walking to the back room. George made his way to the stranger and put on a smile.

"'Allo sir, what can I get for ye?" His brown eyes bore into George's hazel ones and he faltered for only a moment under the weight of his gaze.

"Whiskey please." He took off his glasses and ran a large hand over his face, letting out a tired groan.

"Long day?"

"Oh, if you knew." he was now pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Aye, I know that feeling. I'll get ye that whiskey." George trotted off behind the bar and got a clean shot glass and found the jack under the counter. He poured the amber liquid in the glass and pout the bottle away. When he walked back to the table, the man was feverishly typing on his cellphone. On a black napkin he placed the whiskey in front of the mysterious man.

"Ta." He said shortly, downing it in one go. George went back to looking for his mop, as it was almost closing time. Finding his biggest tip of the day where the usual card-playing guys were, George smiled. He thought he heard the click of a camera phone shutter, but shrugged it off. Brian came out from the back with a troubled expression.

"Okay, got it.... No i-it's fine, I'll figure something out eventually. Bye." He hung up and shoved his flip phone in his trouser pocket.

"Somethin' wrong Eppy?" George asked, concerned.

"Hmm? Oh, it's nothing. You're free to go, and here's your paycheck." Brian handed him an envelope, and George took it, opening it and making sure it was all there. 

"Ta. See ye tomorrow Eppy." George went to the back to hang up his apron and grab his coat. He walked past the tall mystery customer and felt a pair of eyes on him as he left the building to his apartment. The cold night air nipped at his body, the thin coat not helping too much. The wind shook his hair all around and he felt his stomach ache with hunger. There was a small grocery store just around the corner that he knew of. 

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George walked out with a couple shopping bags full of clearance food items. Once he was back in his apartment, he locked the door and put away most of the groceries. He made himself a sandwich and found some envelopes on the floor by the mail slot. All bills of course. And with his paycheck, would just barely be able to afford. He shoved the last bit of crust into his mouth and went to his small bedroom. It wasn't much, but it's all he's got. George found his pyjamas and stripped off his shirt and jeans, buttoning up the goofy-looking purple striped pyjamas. He snuggled under his thin covers and tried to let sleep take him away. But too many thoughts were racing through his head.

"Who was that guy?"

"What's wrong with Eppy?"

"Did the mystery man take a picture of him?"

"I hope I can fix this debt hole I'm in. Soon." 

Eventually, after quite a while of staring at the leaky roof, George's eyes fluttered closed.

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Awwww, poor Joj. What do ya guys fink so far? Remember: Covers, I need 'em, you got 'em. Don't be shy, step right up my lovelies and test your strength.

Much love,

Maggs xoxo