The Blue Orchid had been the type of club frequented only by Disney Boys. That had been before the great flood of ’09. Now the only patrons of the gloomy bar were downbeats.
The owner, a gangle, in his early forties wanted the good times back. But that was a no way. Everybody but the nobodies had left.
He pulled the steel shutters down for the last time. Leaving barrels full, glasses on the tables and ashtrays groaning with unwanted dog ends. All waiting for the dust and cobwebs of dereliction.
He left on the tide, to join the flood.