➥ location: the sandwich establishment ➥ timestamp: lunchtime ➥ status: closed starter for @graham-oswald
Perhaps he ought to have cut his losses and headed right back out the door the second he heard raised voices, but, quite frankly, Nathan was starved for entertainment and a sandwich shop bust-up was about the closest thing to any real action he'd seen in weeks. It seemed he wasn't the only one intrigued by the escalating chaos. Of the entire queue waiting—a lunch rush in full swing—only a handful had left when the two men at the front started arguing. One woman in front of Nathan was actually craning her neck to see what was going on, much to his amusement.
Behind the counter, an anxious teenager hovered uncertainly, obviously not sure what to do. He had no idea what had started it, only that the idiots involved were creating much more of a scene than necessary. Somebody else tried to step in and was quickly rebuffed. It wasn't much of a surprise when it came to blows, though the sheer impetus with which the pair of men went careening into one of the few small tables was.
It was more out of instinct than generosity that Nathan's hand shot out, seizing a handful of the coat in front of him, and tugged its owner out of the path of destruction. He regretted it instantly. The two of them went stumbling sideways and the cappuccino he'd acquired from next door met an untimely death, drenching his previously spotless shirt in lukewarm coffee and spilling across both their feet. “Jesus wept,” he cursed, caught halfway between annoyance and amusement. “If I'd known I was entering a fight club I'd have warned my dry-cleaner ahead of time. My apologies,” he added to the man as an afterthought.