Cheers

Harry walked into the pub.
He came here almost every night and had done for almost six months, but nobody knew his name.
He generally sat at the bar, drinking lager and eating peanuts alone for two hours after work.
"Alright, mate. What can I get you?" asked the barman who served him almost every night.
How do you not know what I drink by now? Harry thought.
"Stella, please."
"Pint?"
No, a fucking hogshead, you moron.
"Yes please."
His beer was planted in front of him and he took the first sweet sip.
The barman had disappeared to the other end of the bar and was talking to a couple of regulars.
How much money do I need to spend in this place to be like one of them?
The pint was drained quickly and Harry stood to go to the toilet.
"Thanks mate," said the barman, mistakenly thinking that Harry was leaving.
Harry said nothing. He walked into the gents where he was alone. He urinated and then washed his hands. As he ran the tap he noticed that the basin was slightly loose. He grabbed it firmly and rocked it back and forth. He'd soon torn it away from the wall. He did the same with the basin next to it. The water pipe became disconnected and began to spew water like a cheap fountain.
He dried his hands using the hot air blower which he then yanked from the wall and smashed on the tiles which were rapidly becoming wetter.
He slipped out of the pub as the barman chinwagged with the two men.
Fuck you all, he thought.