Ares was starting to like New York. It took him a while to get used to everything (again, perhaps?) and he was still accommodating but things weren't so bad here. Lots of people, people who didn't know his name, who were too busy and selfish to think outside their little boxes - but the lively city of strangers was a lot nicer than home.
He wondered if he had that exact same line of thought the first time he set foot here.
On his usual routes of exploring the places near his home, Ares had made new acquaintances. Apparently he was on very good terms with the guy that sold great pancakes - after explaining what had happened, they were getting reacquainted and it was quite nice. There was the news-stand guy, the ice cream girl, and even the cleaning lady that came into his house twice a week seemed to be nice, if a little scary at times.
He had spent hungover mornings chatting and chatting to the hotdog stand owner, so when some rich, stuck-up idiot came along and interrupted him - not just being rude to Ares but being an asshole to everyone in general - Ares was a man and did the right thing.
He turned around and in that split second punched the guy in the face, clipping him in the jawbone.