Michael didn’t offer the man a second glance as he scurried off. He wasn’t worth another thought. He was a nobody. Just a rattled businessman stuck in a dead end life. He’d probably go home to a wife who couldn’t stand to look at him and kids who didn’t care one way or another.
Manners. Yes, Michael knew all about manners and being polite and saying please and thank you and I’m sorry. He could say all of those things and make you believe that he meant it while not meaning it at all. This time, in this instance, he did mean what he said. He was sorry for nearly hurling some asshole into a stranger who had done nothing to earn his ire.
“No. It was very rude of me. I should’ve looked where I was throwing.” If he’d stopped to consider his next step, he would’ve made the decision to throw the guy straight into a wall. A few broken bones and a bruised ego were nothing, really. He could’ve considered himself one of the lucky ones, and gone away having learned a valuable lesson. Don’t fuck with kids who looked like shit. You never knew what was hiding underneath all that filth.
Michael liked the look of this stranger’s smile. There was something behind it. It wasn’t shallow, didn’t seem mocking or forced or condescending. And he was dressed well, looked put together, neat, not a hair out of place. He was the opposite of Michael, who appeared distressed, misplaced, like he had spent four days out in the wilderness. Which he had.
Was he okay? No. Absolutely not. His stand-in mother had been burned to death. He hadn’t eaten or bathed in four days. His father had refused to speak to him. And if one more person glowered at him, he swore he’d set this whole entire place on fire. Just like Rudolph.
Michael shrugged. Nonchalantly. Tipped his head back and cracked his neck. “Fine,” he said, and smiled and smile that didn’t quite cut it. “Just having a bad day.” Or a bad life. “Thank you for asking.”