The following is a sample decision point.
It’s only a short walk to “The Loading Dock,” a local dive bar and dockworker hotspot used as a watering hole on the way home after a long day at the warehouse district. Usually, you steer clear. It’s an insular bunch and tends to get rowdy. But tonight, you’re feeling rowdy.
You step through the saloon-style doors, keeping your head down, but everyone looks up. The crowd is mostly men, dockworkers with thick beards, black knit caps, and uniform shirts with brown collars. Cold faces with colder eyes, and not a smile to greet you. Guess it’s one of those “where everybody knows your name” places, and their stares are a far cry from welcoming.
At the bar you pick your poison, and after the briefest pause, the bartender serves you.
You twirl your finger just above the liquid, letting your mind stir the beverage for you. Just as the bartender starts to notice, you turn and face the room, your back to the bar top, and scan the options.
A jukebox is playing 1990s classic Nirvana. Smells Like Teen Spirit. A lonely dartboard is nearby, darts sticking out from the cork, the wall pock-marked with misses. Two men play pool in the center of the room. Against the far wall is a shuffleboard table where a young woman is writing messages in the sand.
You feel like practicing your new skills, so why not: