It was my intention to say 'forgive me!' Mark screamed angrily. In his third effort to apologise, he raised his voice a bit higher and added an exaggerated 'curtseying' arm gesture to his stance. However, he acknowledged to himself that it was mostly his fault that the two guys had come into contact with each other, but he saw no reason for this individual to be so disrespectful. Mark had been wandering along, trying to recall where he was and why he had gone for a walk. Eventually, he remembered. It seemed as if he had just recently awoken or as if a fog bank had fallen over his head, since he was having difficulty thinking clearly and coherently. In any case, he had previously knocked into the other guy, who had also been preoccupied while he was walking, and had said "excuse me" twice to him before this point. The guy had come to a complete halt, gazing about and looked a little perplexed, as if he didn't understand what had just occurred. After a courteous "pardon me," Mark attempted to apologise in a more direct manner. "Excuse me," I said once again, but the guy stood there, staring at him, or rather through him, as if he were invisible. Mark turned around and went up the street when his third effort to apologise failed to elicit a response from the other guy.
"There are some people," he thought to himself. "There are no manners at all."
Mark took a few steps back and gazed around at the buildings and stores on the street. He could tell it was late at night by the absence of traffic, the fact that the bulk of shops had their window guards pulled down and secured, and the rows of parked automobiles along the streets.
He said to himself, "Aha, now I know where I am." He recognised the familiar sign of a neighbourhood bar that he frequented as he looked at the neon signs that illuminated the walkway along with the street lights. He smiled as he remembered the sign. On his way home from the metro station, he passed by a convenience store a few of streets away from his apartment building. He wasn't a regular by any means, but he did take a break every now and then after a particularly arduous day on the job. He wasn't the only one. A wide variety of draught beers were available, and the cups were frosted, which enhanced the flavour of each drink.
This particular July evening, the pub's door was pushed open in an attempt to force some ventilation through the stagnant air around the booths and tables, but it failed miserably. Finding an empty seat at the end of the bar was important to him, as he didn't want any company or distractions while he was trying to figure out precisely why he had been out and about so late. That wasn't something he did on a regular basis; he generally went to bed after watching the nightly news.
When he came inside the bar, the bartender didn't even bother to glance at him, so he lifted his arm in an attempt to get his attention.
Why isn't he looking over here? It's not that dark in here, so what's the deal? Mark pondered his options. There had never been a time when the service had been this awful. No, not even when he'd arrived at the pub at peak hours on a Friday after work, when the place was jam-packed with customers. Tonight, there were just a few people in the bar, most of whom he believed were regulars, distributed about the area.
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