"New skin? What the fuck, mate?" Isaac just shook his head, then took another sip of his beer. "Nevermind, I don't fucking want to know..." He'd only just gotten the cast off his arm, so that was all well and good, but he didn't trust himself to keep from getting in trouble if it came down to it. "She nags - worse than my fucking mother when she was alive. Keeps saying I can't do shite - I mean, fuck. I'm thirty-fucking-four. I can handle myself."
He growled, prodding his pint with the tip of a finger before motioning to the bartender. "Plate of chips," he muttered, watching as the man went to put the order in. "Wouldn't trust her not to break my fucking shoulder, truth be told - or I might, but not far. Course, she knows I said that, probably, so bugger it." It was all giving him a monumental headache, thinking about it. Pulling his packet of cigarettes out, he eyed the smoke drifting upward from the other man's and the odds of both of them getting away with lighting up and avoiding getting fined for it. Smoke-free England my arse.