If you haven't seen Homefront, then this will make ABSOLUTELY no sense—trust me on this one! Anyway, I don't own these characters and I make no profit off this story (and there really is little point to this story…but at least it's short. J )
Random Acts of Writing: Unlikely Crossovers: McGinty's...Roadhouse?
An old man that Gary had never noticed before sat at the bar, nursing a beer. He was probably in his late sixties, with short white hair, and dressed in a suit and long tweed coat, but he looked like he'd been an athlete when he was younger, still with a strong body.
For some reason, Gary stopped to talk to the man. "How do you do, sir," he said, absently taking a glass and polishing it. He hadn't stood behind the bar lately, had been too busy with the paper. It felt good to relax a moment and actually work at his own restaurant. "Is everything to your satisfaction?"
The man smiled and finished his drink. "You could refill that for me, and I'd be more than satisfied," he told Gary. "Another beer please."
Gary smiled and refilled the man's glass. "There you go, sir."
The man was still smiling at something. "I used to work at a bar," he told Gary reminiscently. "A long time ago. And a lot of the time, I did exactly what you're doing now."
Gary glanced down at the glass he was polishing and smiled politely at the man. "Yes sir."
"I'm just waiting for my wife," he told Gary. He rolled his eyes. "Christmas shopping."
"Ohh, I understand sir," Gary sympathisized. They exchanged a few more pleasantries, some more small talk. Gary found he was liking this old man, who seemed very down-to-earth to him. He knew a lot about baseball too.
An older woman walked into the bar, carrying a few large shopping bags. She was dressed in an old-fashioned skirt, her red-turning-grey hair tucked under a beret. The man looked up when the door opened and smiled immediately. "Ginger!" he called. She turned at her name, saw him, and smiled warmly back, heading for her husband.
"Hi honey," she said, giving him a kiss on the forehead. "Ready to go?"
He smiled up at her, then gave her a kiss right back, and for an instant Gary actually felt envious. "Yeah," he told her, standing up. He picked up a hat from the bar, glanced across at Gary, and stuck out his hand. "Thanks for the drinks," he said, "Mr...?"
"Hobson," Gary said, shaking the old man's hand. "Gary Hobson."
"Right, Mr Hobson," the other man said. "Jeff Metcalfe," he introduced himself with a smile and walked away with his wife.