“Albert, might you hand me the colonialized dried grapes?” Frank said, reaching for the chocolate-covered raisins.
“Why yes Franklin, I might,” Al said, lifting the bowl and handing it to his friend.
“My, how delightful. I do say, the colonies are creating fine confections.”
“Indeed, my good man, and finer ales.” Al took a sip of his beer, then set it on his gut.
“Do tell, Albert, what is the state of the match? I’ve misplaced my spectacles.”
“I believe, Franklin, that it is currently three points to null in favour of the visitors.”
“Indeed, as I have placed a rather substantial sum on our local club.”
“Well, pray that there is a turnabout.”
Al took another sip, emptying his bottle. He stood. “May I offer you another, good sir?”
“Indeed quite, and do make haste, Albert. My thirst must be quenched.”
Albert walked down the hall to the kitchen, grabbing two brewskis and popping the tops off with an opener. He came back and tossed one to his pal, who caught it without spilling.
“Much obliged. To our ongoing good fortune.” Frank said.
“Cheers,” Al said, clinking bottles. They turned to the game, Frank scratching his belly.