There were a number of men at the bar, a few women. A group of loud-voiced shipyard workers sat at a table playing Indian dice. They were all white. I found a seat at the bar between a woman and a man and made myself comfortable. The fear of being refused service might have come into my mind, but I didn't notice it. After a while the bar-tender stopped in front of me. He was a thin, indifferent-faced man with thinning black hair and a winged moustache. I ordered a double scotch and he grinned. The white woman next to me stopped talking and looked around. I could feel her gaze on me.

'You would take gin though, wouldn't you?' the bar-tender said.

I let my eyes rove over the stock. All I saw was gin, rum, tequila, vodka, and wine. I grinned back at the bar-tender. 'Gin's fine,' I said. 'I was nursed on gin.'

He picked up the bottle, poised it. 'Double?'

'That's right,' I said. I turned to look at the white woman at my side. Our eyes met. She had brown eyes, frankly curious; and blonde hair, dark at the roots, piled on top of her head. In the dim orange light her lipstick didn't show and her mouth looked too thin for the size of her other features. She had taken off her brassiere on account of the heat and the outline of her breasts showed distinctly through her white rayon blouse.

She looked away after a moment and when I looked into the mirror I met the eyes of the man on the other side of her. I smiled slightly, looked away before seeing whether he returned it or not.

The bar-tender replaced the gin bottle. 'Chaser?'

'Water,' I said.

He set up the water. 'We don't have no more whisky, only once or twice a week,' he said. 'I ain't seen no Scotch since I don't know when.'