Flannagan was not having the best days, it was stressful to claim the least and a lot of running. Too much for one man to handle, he had been chasing after some six legged alien on the planet when something had drawn him back to Earth, grumpy and irritated that his stone just had to teleport him.
He had him.
Then he did not have him.
That single thought along had brought him to a local pub, he did not really know where he had landed, but it was somewhere in the suburbs, seeing as he had to land in a pile of bristled leaves, leaving small scratches all over his face.
"Mate, hand over your scotch, I don't care which, jus' do it, please?"
"Had a rough day?"
"Somethin' alon' those lines..." he replied, picking up his glass between first finger and thumb as he looked around the pub.
"Look forwards into life, not backwards...otherwise you may find your face planted into the back of a lamp-post." -Flannagan