Re: Deck chairs; sitting.
This guy would be this guy for one night only. It wasn't the name thing. The name thing might have been Nobody's game but this guy liked names any other night of the week. Of course, this was theoretical because this guy span like a globe someone had run a hand past and he didn't know if he was Africa or somewhere small and expensive in Europe. It could be everything I told you about this guy would get written off when he woke up tomorrow but right now was right now.
This guy wasn't dumb. That point needs making because the situation was kind of dumb, given what you know about this guy and Nobody. This guy didn't know Nobody one way or the other, except that he didn't think Nobody was a smoker or somebody who made out with guys on a regular day. This guy jumped in lakes and threw shoes and lived each second for the next pass through he got and he figured if Nobody wanted to take a tour, the 360 view was where it was at.
Except it wasn't. He wasn't up on his feet, so he tumbled too. Wet, his denim had grip on the concrete so he didn't slide so much as his hands slid back and he scraped up a palm. Road-rash, with no road and it wasn't a joy-ride so much as it was a missed gear.
"Sorry," this guy said, as he looked at his palm, winced and wiped it along the hem of his shirt. The lake-water probably wouldn't do it a lot of good, but the shirt was cold and wet and that felt better than it did stinging sharp. This guy didn't feel shitty exactly, because the globe hadn't swung all the way round to that. But he felt that undercurrent of knowing and he held up both hands.
"You weren't going for the improved experience, were you?" He was clued in, and maybe a little sheepish. "Jeez. Hell of a way to make an impression." He sounded like maybe it bothered him. For five minutes, maybe it would.