@santcryu
Byron was partial to quiet house parties with wine over bars, though he understood that from a salesman’s view, a bar was a treasure trove. Inhibitions low, plying money was easy.
There were drawbacks to the environment. Higher chance of brawls and having to get his clothes dry cleaned to name a few.
And one such drawback reared its ugly head; walking too close to the bar stools, a man sloshed his beer out across Byron’s chest. One hand flew out to steady his position while he turned on his heel and gave the man a talking to.
The man in question was mousey in demeanor (at least when inebriated) and gave in easily, handing Byron a sticky wad of cash. It was more than he needed for the dry cleaning, but he didn’t know that.
The affair done he shook off his hand, now also sticky. He glowered at it. Then...he remembered his other hand. Now out of his rage he realized he wasn’t holding onto the bar counter, but rather....someone’s arm.
He let go and spun on his heel.
“My apologies, I hadn’t realized, I thought I’d had grabbed the counter.”
