A Tale of Two Choices by Bassoonist PG

Dorothea made her way through the mean streets to the Poxy Goat. Soon she came to Dorset Street and began to look at the signs on the decrepit looking buildings.

She finally found the Poxy Goat and entered. It was hot, smoky and smelled strongly of ale and unwashed bodies.

The place was full of men and women, every one of them a bit rough looking. She approached the bar where she saw the publican speaking to a flamboyant looking woman.