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Samson popped into the PPub shortly before Happy Hour to find the joint crammed with loudness and jostling bodies. There was only one seat left at the far end of the bar where he always sat, and he wedged between two drinkers to claim it. Then, he realized it was Father’s Day, and the place reeked of complex stories. Samson brooded about his long-dead father as he drank. Mostly he steered clear of the subject, fathers in general and his in particular. A see-saw cracking laugh flipped a trigger switch, and he anchored in the flash storm. He couldn’t see the laugher; she sat on the other side of the man directly to his left. Samson assumed they were a couple, more likely on a date than in a relationship.
“Shut up!” he muttered under his breath, and his Inner Director held up a flashcard that said, “Lose the audio and dial up your reaction for in-depth data mining.” Before he knew to keep his words to himself, he frequently got in scuffles with people who didn’t appreciate his point of view. Turning down his audio volume, he braced himself for the next laugh. Loud Laughers are always repeat offenders. Ten seconds later, she ripped a guffaw that ended in a snort explosion. Listening to her helped him check in with his energetic readout- high Anxiety - and his muscle organization indicated he had entered the danger zone before the fight took over.
