Micah suddenly staggered sideways and collided with the shoulder of a passerby. His steps faltered, his vision a blur of lights and shapes.
He mumbled something that vaguely resembled an apology and kept walking without even lifting his head to look.
Then, out of nowhere, a rough hand grasped his shoulder tightly. The sudden pressure made Micah flinch, his body jerking back as if he had been jolted awake from a bad dream. He tilted his head, eyes squinting. "Ha?" His voice was dazed, soft, as if his mind hadn't caught up to what was happening.
"Are your eyes for decoration?" the man snapped. His voice was coarse, full of irritation. The smell of alcohol clung to him, and his shirt bore a large wet stain where a drink had clearly splashed.
Micah blinked hard, struggling to focus.
"Sorry…" he slurred, noticing the stain. His apology fell flat and lifeless.
