I lost my knitting needles.

I know. I know. Such an idiot. Such a simple, stupid and not small thing! There they were, just stuck into my ball of wool by my side and then - well.

Distraction. An old grumbling man, with pointed ears like a goblin but skin of a southern human, rocked up to my seat with dazed eyes. Heavily, he sat down opposite me - something which I never would have invited him to do - and hefted his arm up to his side, scrunching it like it was injured or disformed. Then he starts going off in a garbling tone, spinning an outrageous yarn about how he left the battlefront, and his soldiers were left there, about how it was awful, the front, and how he had barely escaped with his hand.

His eyes were half focused, lips trembling in breaths. Grabbing my drink he slavered as he drank up the rest of the contents as I could only stare, smile politely and feel horribly uncomfortable in the fading light. Once he put the drink down he remained leaning towards me and I was subject to the worst breath even an orc could muster and - well ...

I leant back. Rude, but I leant back, cringing at his terrible scent.

"Well that's rude," he gaffawed and up and left.

I winced but said nothing. Didn't apologise, didn't move, only watched him leave a dirty ring on the chair. A young bartender quickly came over and cleared my table, nodding in understanding.

She brought me another fresh beer, and we shared a sigh.

It was only later though that I realised my knitting needles are gone too.