Nixta Sinks

While I sat in the pub with some exquisite company, finishing off a bottle of wine (sadly Australian, but what can one expect from a pub) two "geezers" sat down at the sofa on the opposite side of the table from us. One was Asian or Sub-Asian, the other Mongoloid and barely even that (his eyes were perhaps too far apart and intimidated by too large a forehead for them to allow his mouth but breathing function). The Sub-Asian commenced a conversational engagement in a surprisingly erudite manner over what was evidently (from his companion) his consequent beer of the afternoon on the matter, no less, of dubiously purloined Amex cards and their inveterately dishonest use in Florida, his subsequent rage (fortunately by now subsided) at their declination at the ticket desk for flights to Rio (where I understand there was some manner of Car Ni Vaal), his younger successful New York based sister's intervention to rescue him from the jaws of debtors, and the topic of his unfortunate be-acned cousin who played guineapig to various concoctions of an 80-year-old Nobel winning father, chemist, uncle and rave afficionado whence came the quote of the day, if not the weekend:

I don't know what his E was like but his shampoo was just terrible.

This exchange took no more time than the consumption of one beer each from the Mongoloid corner, at which point they thankfully and fortunately left us to our devices and the bill.