Write a story about a strange run-in in a pub.
system
Write a story about a strange run-in in a pub.
user
David yawns. Another night when he’s slept no more than three hours, and the throb behind his eye is like a dentist’s drill. The rooster which used to wake him at daybreak now crows throughout the night and screeches in his ear.

David runs to catch the streetcar, and trips. His shoe catapults into the gutter, but he grabs the rail and pulls himself onto the landing as the clanging streetcar gathers speed. He hates those brown slip-ons with the silly tassels and glares at the scuffed right shoe, lopsided in the downpour. He crashes onto the orange plastic seat. At work, he has a pair of dress shoes and in the meantime, no one he knows will see him barefoot. His toe throbs but it isn’t bleeding. His stomach grumbles. If he’d missed the streetcar he would have been half an hour late but now he’ll be able to stop in at the cafeteria on Sturova and grab a Turkish coffee.

If he loses his job he’ll have to join the homeless on the other bank of the Danube, by the bridge. He knows the sharp pain in his chest is not a heart attack. It’s a void – she ripped his heart out.

The streetcar makes a right by the Carlton Hotel and stops. David hops off. He takes a few limping steps then decides he’s too ridiculous and kicks off his remaining shoe in a huge arc, watching it plop into a puddle. Barefoot is more sensible, even on cobblestones in the center of town. He drags his feet through puddles, the water chilling his toes. Forget coffee and a sweet, he decides, he’ll have tripe soup for breakfast, with an extra piece of rye bread, and a pickle, straight out of the barrel. They probably don’t have the schnitzels ready yet, barely eight in the morning. He pushes the door of the cafeteria open and is slammed with the sharp smells of frying onions, spilled beer, and Debreziner sausage. He shuffles to the end of the line-up of yawning workmen in grimy overalls. The woman in the green blouse runs up to him, grabs his cheeks between her meaty hands and kisses him hungrily. David is stunned. She breaks the kiss, slaps him, rattling his head. “Swine,” she spits. She runs out the door. Odd.
assistant
<|system|>
</s>
<|user|>
Write a story about a strange run-in in a pub.</s>
<|assistant|>
David yawns. Another night when he’s slept no more than three hours, and the throb behind his eye is like a dentist’s drill. The rooster which used to wake him at daybreak now crows throughout the night and screeches in his ear.

David runs to catch the streetcar, and trips. His shoe catapults into the gutter, but he grabs the rail and pulls himself onto the landing as the clanging streetcar gathers speed. He hates those brown slip-ons with the silly tassels and glares at the scuffed right shoe, lopsided in the downpour. He crashes onto the orange plastic seat. At work, he has a pair of dress shoes and in the meantime, no one he knows will see him barefoot. His toe throbs but it isn’t bleeding. His stomach grumbles. If he’d missed the streetcar he would have been half an hour late but now he’ll be able to stop in at the cafeteria on Sturova and grab a Turkish coffee.

If he loses his job he’ll have to join the homeless on the other bank of the Danube, by the bridge. He knows the sharp pain in his chest is not a heart attack. It’s a void – she ripped his heart out.

The streetcar makes a right by the Carlton Hotel and stops. David hops off. He takes a few limping steps then decides he’s too ridiculous and kicks off his remaining shoe in a huge arc, watching it plop into a puddle. Barefoot is more sensible, even on cobblestones in the center of town. He drags his feet through puddles, the water chilling his toes. Forget coffee and a sweet, he decides, he’ll have tripe soup for breakfast, with an extra piece of rye bread, and a pickle, straight out of the barrel. They probably don’t have the schnitzels ready yet, barely eight in the morning. He pushes the door of the cafeteria open and is slammed with the sharp smells of frying onions, spilled beer, and Debreziner sausage. He shuffles to the end of the line-up of yawning workmen in grimy overalls. The woman in the green blouse runs up to him, grabs his cheeks between her meaty hands and kisses him hungrily. David is stunned. She breaks the kiss, slaps him, rattling his head. “Swine,” she spits. She runs out the door. Odd.</s>
