Sweeney lifted his head and the bartender gave him a sympathetic glance after the newcomer started speaking. Irish swill? Greek fire? And that racist comment about the Irish being drunk barbarians? Really?
Really?
A fine Irish Whiskey was far from swill. Scottish Whiskey even better still, but Sweeney still had the preference for the Irish stuff. It was great for getting intoxicated, sure, but it was also great for warming the soul and sipping on a fine afternoon. It was great. So, that alone, he took offense to.
“Listen, man, you got a problem with the Irish?” It should have been painfully obvious from Sweeney's coloring that he was either Irish or Scottish. “What's more, you got a problem with whiskey?”
He sipped his own Jack and Coke with a slight sigh. It wasn't the first time in his life someone had insulted his people, his drink and his homeland all in a few strung together sentences, but it was the first time it had happened in awhile.