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The Complete Short Stories: The 1960s
The Complete Short Stories: The 1960s

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‘I don’t understand these kids,’ he said. ‘They’re all the same today – rather watch a telegame over a bottle of squash than come out and have a real drink like a man.’

‘Forget it, George,’ Max said.

‘Yes, let’s forget it,’ George agreed, taking the other’s arm. ‘Let the world go to pot eh? We’ll show ’em! I feel like getting real soused tonight, Maxie, and forget the bloody war and everything.’

They passed into the shadow of a Martian building like a small hill. It might have been, in its prime, a cathedral or a railway station. The race that had built it was long gone; now their monument bore warning notices BEWARE OF FALLING ROCK. Many of its ancient cloisters had been adapted into stalls or shops by terrestrials. In one of the darkest corners stood the Flingabout Tavern. The two Earthmen went in, into an atmosphere of neon and noise.

Few customers were about. A juke-box blazed away in a corner; two couples danced in front of it. Girls in aprons bustled round, serving drinks and marsbergers. George eyed them appreciatively.

‘This is living!’ he exclaimed, rubbing his red hands. ‘Maybe we pick up a couple of these tarts at closing time, eh, Max?’

‘Maybe,’ Max said.

They ordered Roinse Green wine in tankards.

‘Here’s to all those stinking, fruitless, useless months of our lives we wasted on Ganymede station!’ Max said, raising his tankard.

Together they drank deep. George sighed with gratification, leaning back in his chair relaxedly, his fingers tapping on the table in time with the juke-box beat.

‘This is living,’ he repeated.

‘Think of those poor kids with their faces buried in comics,’ he said.

‘I’ll bet this place gets pretty wild after dark,’ he said. He looked slightly bored.

‘We can go somewhere else after another drink or two, if you want,’ he said.

‘Really paint the town,’ he said.

‘Show ’em old soldiers never die,’ he said. Pause.

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