[prompt: 'different' 18/4/2019]
"I predict a revolution is imminent."
"Like the Frenchies had back in the uhrr... when WAS that?" George the barman stopped polishing the glass, trying to dredge up the year from his memory bank. His frown looked like it was quite an effort.
"1789, George. Went on for near ten years, they reckon." Joe took another deep swallow of his beer and burped quietly. "But no... not that kinda revolution. I mean an evolution revolution." And he nodded his head knowingly. Because of course, Joe was always full of knowledge - all of it correct.
"An evolution revolution? What on earth is that? Another 'greenie' thing? Or Muslim?"
"Nope." Joe's voice was firm. "Someone else can worry about all of them. It's this next generation I'm talking about."
"How'dya mean then?"
"Well, I'll tell you, if you'll get me another beer. And provided I get time enough before Baz arrives. You know what he's like. Mess up a decent conversation soon as he gets a few glasses down the hatch - every single time. Just as well he's still my oldest mate, hey?" And added, in a grudging mutter, "... and my best mate and all."
As George filled another glass to overflowing to get rid of the excess froth, knowing the tired old line Joe would throw at him about 'a collar like that should have a tie' if he didn't make the head exactly the right height, Joe continued.
"You know how we came from Neanderthal man— "
"Me and who all, man?" George misheard over the roar of laughter from the other end of the bar. They were only three - but loud as all get out.
Joe rolled his eyes and groaned. "NE-AN-DER-THAL Man," he repeated, and though he muttered his next words, George was a good lip-reader... had to be, in his job. Joe's words were to the tune that he didn't miss Baz at all when George was only paying half-attention. Joe shrugged theatrically, like the name prima donna had been invented solely for him and continued, "That's the blokes we all come from, they say—" and this time he interrupted himself before George could, "And that's not Adam and Eve. They were even further back or something. Don't know that the Bible and good old Charles Darwin ever sorted THAT one."
Joe emptied his glass in one prolonged swallow and plonked it down heavier than he meant to. Luckily, the bar was covered in a long mat running its length, of nylon-ish, carpet-ish looking stuff, backed with rubber. Obviously designed for glass thumpers and the like.
"Well-ll-ll, it'll all starts and ends with these so-called smart phones they have welded to their ears when they're not mesmerised by the screen. It's all gonna end in grunts and tears, you just wait and see." And as he turned his bar stool away from George, he said, "Tell you what, matey... You pour us another glass while I go point Percy at the porcelain, and I'll educate you right proper about the future when I get back. I kid you not... it's gonna be different to anything you can imagine."
[to be continued next week, if the prompt fits and we can all bear it!]
YOU ARE READING
Think I Can FlyShort Story
My 2019 collection of flash fiction and non-fiction stories inspired by a weekly prompt word begins. And who better to feature first than an Aussie achiever extraordinaire?