Somewhere Cheap
He felt a brief flare of irritation with himself. There were a thousand more charming deflections, and he should have used one of those. Not that one, just saying "no" like it bothered him.
It didn't bother him. He wasn't bothered, he just didn't want to talk about it. Because it was boring, and no other reason. Charlton Almond had only boring stories to tell. Charlie Ewing's stories were much better.
"Quite right! Nostalgia is, as they say, the most toxic impulse." He was smiling when they agreed to hear the other story; he resisted the urge to frown. To try and find the clocking pity in their faces that he knew was there. Pity would have been worse than teasing and trying to get him to tell the other story (even though it was, absolutely, just no fun to hear). Charlie didn't need pity and he didn't want it. He avoided looking at both of them just in case. That would have put a damper on his ability to tell this story, and it was a good one. He just had to fill in the gaps when he got towards the end. Easy.
"The boardwalk was wet," he started brightly, sitting up a little straighter. His foot was still tapping, but that was under the table and didn't count. "And please, what do you take me for? I was plenty drunk. And I'd had something else too. What was it...?" He paused, looking up to the ceiling in consideration. There was a spot above their table. It looked like water damage, somehow.
"I don't think I knew at the time. Which is a shame, I had fun. Anyway. I was new to the Rose, you understand, and I'd never really been in the canalworks. A serial killer kept me from falling in," he raised his eyebrows and grinned, bright and wide.