Kia worked late at the bar, pouring a draft pint of beer for the customer—for the second time, thanks to too much foam on the first attempt. She was no stranger to these late shifts, her evenings often swallowed by the chaotic hum of the pub near Covent Garden. The old tap groaned as she pulled it, her hand slick with condensation. The room buzzed with electric chaos—cheers erupting as a football match replayed on the mounted TV, the low thrum of house music bleeding in from the upstairs club, and the clang of glasses against sticky tables. "Hurry up, luv! I want to drink that, not have it poured on the ground!" the customer barked, his grating voice cutting through the din. His breath reeked of lager and faint tobacco, curling in her direction like an unwelcome fog. Kia bit the inside of her cheek, keeping her thoughts sharp even as her reply remained sweet.
"Coming right up, sir!" she shouted, her voice rising above the ambient noise. I'm doing it, you disgusting old creep, she thought bitterly, wiping the foam trail from the edge of the glass and sliding it toward him. The pint settled in front of him, its amber liquid gleaming under the flicker of fluorescent light. The wooden counter beneath her hands felt sticky, coated with the residue of countless spilled drinks. The pub itself seemed alive—its air thick with the smell of fried chips, spilled beer, and damp coats lazily hung over chairs. Outside, rain pattered against the old pane windows, an endless drizzle soaking the London streets and reflecting the glow of red double-deckers rumbling by. Kia let out a breath, her posture stiff as she reached for a rag to scrub the bar. The warm buzz of laughter from a nearby table clashed with the sharp curses of patrons crowding around the dartboard in the back. Her world was distilled into two things: noise and chaos. And all she wanted was to escape it.
Among the regulars was a group of women Kia knew all too well. Flashy outfits and boisterous personalities marked their arrival like clockwork every week. They perched at the bar as if they owned it, their voices slicing through the noise with practiced ease. "Oi, handsome!" one of them called out, leaning over the counter to holler at a passing man. Her voice was syrupy, but Kia recognized the glint of mischief in her eyes. "Don't be shy now—come over here and let me buy you a drink!" she added, her laughter ringing out as the man awkwardly waved her off. The rejection didn't faze her. Kia watched as she turned to her friends, her tone shifting to mockery. "Look at him, actin' all high and mighty. Bet his missus keeps him on a short leash!" she sneered, loud enough for the man to hear. Her friends erupted in laughter, their voices carrying across the room.
Another woman chimed in, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, don't worry, love! We wouldn't want to steal you away from your boring little life!" she shouted, punctuating the remark with exaggerated winks and gestures. The group howled with laughter, their antics drawing attention from nearby tables. Kia caught herself glancing at the security team near the entrance. Her stomach sank as she saw them standing idly by, arms crossed and unmoving. The manager had made it clear: these women were untouchable. Their wallets were as loud as their voices, and as far as he was concerned, that made them the best customers. Kia sighed, wiping the counter with more force than necessary. The sticky residue clung to her rag, much like the tension clinging to the air. The women's jeers echoed in her ears, a constant reminder of the chaos she couldn't escape.
One of the security staff appeared at the bar, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd with ease. Dan, a young muscular man in his twenties, leaned against the counter, his expression dark. The neon lights above cast sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw. "I hate those slappers," he growled, his Cockney accent thick and unmistakable. He nodded toward the group of women, their laughter ringing out as they catcalled another unsuspecting man. "Always targetin' the young blokes in the crowd—even us security lot. It's bloody ridiculous." Kia glanced up from the pint she was pouring, her brow furrowing as she caught the frustration in his voice. Dan wasn't one to complain often, but tonight seemed to have pushed him to his limit.
"I've got a partner, for Christ's sake," he continued, his voice rising slightly above the din of the bar. "And I'm gay! You'd think that'd stop 'em, but no—they don't care. It's like they've got no bloody respect for anyone." Kia offered him a sympathetic smile, wiping her hands on the towel tucked into her apron. "I hear you, mate. They're a nightmare, but the manager loves 'em. Says they're the best customers we've got." Dan snorted, shaking his head. "Best customers, my arse. I'm seriously considerin' leavin' this job soon, Kia. Can't keep dealin' with this rubbish every night." She nodded, understanding all too well the toll the job could take. The relentless noise, the chaos, the lack of support—it wore on everyone eventually. But for now, all she could do was offer a listening ear and hope the night would pass quickly.
The club was winding down, the music fading into a low hum as the crowd thinned. Kia felt her muscles ache from hours of serving drinks and cleaning spills, her energy running on fumes. The air in the bar was stagnant now, heavy with the mingling smells of beer, sweat, and rain-soaked clothes. The buzz of conversation had dimmed, but it wasn't over yet—not for the security staff. Dan and the others were locked in the thankless task of corralling a group of rowdy football hooligans who had overstayed their welcome. The lads were loud and unsteady on their feet, their team scarves swinging wildly as they jeered and cursed at one another, and sometimes at the security team. Their chants had long since lost rhythm, devolving into incoherent shouting as they clung to the last dregs of the night.
"Come on, mate, time to call it!" Dan barked at one of them, his Cockney accent cutting through the noise. The man responded with a snort and a slurred attempt at a football chant, his arm flung around a mate who was barely standing. Dan glanced back at Kia as she wiped down the counter one last time, rolling his eyes in exasperation. He stepped forward, his imposing frame blocking the hooligans' path further into the bar. "I'm not askin' again. Out. Now," he said firmly, his voice low but commanding. The group grumbled and staggered toward the door, muttering curses under their breath. One of them shoved a stool aside with a loud scrape, earning a sharp look from another security guard who joined Dan at the exit. Together, they managed to herd the men out, their grumbles fading as the door slammed shut behind them.
Kia let out a long breath, leaning against the counter for a moment of stolen rest. The pub had fallen quiet now, save for the hum of lights and the faint sound of rain against the windows. The night was finally over—or close enough. She caught Dan's eye as he passed by, his shoulders drooping with exhaustion. "Not your best crowd tonight," she said, her voice tinged with dry humor. He smirked, shaking his head. "Every night feels like the worst crowd," he replied, and they shared a weary chuckle before heading their separate ways.