The man is terrifying, and though everything in you is telling you to run, your body is too sore to make any quick moves.  One thing is for certain.  He looks angry.
Please don’t let him kill me.  Please don’t let him hurt me.
When he reaches you at last, he draws back his leg for a kick, and . . . his foot connects with the chair.  The bits of it that had remained intact from your initial contact with it shatter.
“Stupid chair,” the guy grunts.
Your eyes are so wide at this point that they hurt.  Who is this guy?
He looks at you and smiles.  “Are you okay?”
“Umm . . . yeah?”  You hope you are, anyway.  The world seems so strange right now that anything is possible.
“I’ve had a bad day,” he explains.  “I saw that it was already broken, so I thought, what could it hurt?  To tell you the truth, I feel a lot better now.”
You nod.  “Okay.  Have a good night, Sir.”
Then you turn and exit the bar.  You’re halfway home before you sadly realize that you never got your cardboard beer coaster.

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