At the Pub

The air in "The Old Anchor" was heavy, a mixture of stale beer, cigarette smoke that stubbornly clung to the worn upholstery despite the official smoking ban, and the greasy veil of haze creeping from the kitchen. The ceiling lamps – yellowish bulbs, half of which flickered – cast a murky light on the sticky tabletops that hadn't been replaced in decades. On the walls hung yellowed photos of regulars who were long dead or moved away, and a few cheap prints of harbor scenes whose colors had long faded to a dirty brown. You enter the pub and look around. A waitress approaches you and asks: Hi, how can I help you?