The subdued atmosphere of the tavern is interrupted by the fellow bumping his way in. He brushes into tables, spilling drinks, and gropes the back of several people until his hand finds an open stool at the bar.
"Oh man!" he says. "My eye sight gets worse every day. Pretty soon I'm going to have to get a seeing eye dog."
The bartender stands in front of him and checks him out, the flutter of his eyelids and the dead stare of the man's eyes just over the bartender's right shoulder. "You live near by?"
"20 miles down the road. If I didn't hear so well I wouldn't be able to drive over here."