The Man in the Corner of the Pub

There was something strange about the man in the corner of the pub. No specific thing, he just seemed… off.

Not a big man, or particularly imposing, but something about him drew my eye the moment he walked in the door.

He seemed twitchy, like a spring wound too tight. A dark cloud hung over him, as though he was waiting for something or someone to set him off.

To give him the excuse to vent his frustration.

I finished my own beer, free hand resting on the straight razor in my jacket pocket, and wandered over to say hello…