Molly nodded sagely. “It’s easy to get that distracted. There’s always people coming and going or things to be done. But we should both try to remember.” Or at least Molly should do better. She always got around to it eventually – but ‘eventually’ had been getting later and later. Halfheartedly, she scooped another bite of stew, but let it fall untouched back into the bowl - her thoughts wandering miles away.
“But,” questioned Molly with genuine surprise, “what’s the point of working at a pub if not the stories?” By Molly’s standard, any time someone spoke uninterrupted for 2 or more minutes, it constituted a story. Though she knew some proper – and improper – ones as well. “And people around here tell tales all the time when they talk to Bridget. Did you hear the one they were telling last night? It’s not as good as ones about the sea, but it has an ant and a dove and a river. So it’s rather alright.” Molly listened a lot and was sure she was a fairly good judge of these matters.