“Thump!” The narrow dart sailed effortlessly through the pub’s sordid air, guided by Helga Flanders’ laser focus and iron determination. She wouldn’t go down like this, surrounded by borderline alcoholics who could barely string two words together. “Bullseye!”, the crowd erupted, knowing that Helga was one point closer to winning the wager: best two out of three throws and loser’s stuck with the tab. There were exactly thirty-seven pence left in Helga’s pig leather coin purse, and she had each and every one earmarked for the bus fare home. As her opponent drew back her torso, preparing to lunge the nickel-tipped bird at the dart board, Helga made a split second decision. She knocked the wind out of the poor woman, kicking in her shins to buy herself some time. Thieving a half empty bottle of whiskey on her way out, Helga made a mad dash — she only had one eye but she had all the foresight in the world.
