"Please take your hand off me," the elderly man said softly. His voice possessed a quiet, steady weight, entirely devoid of anger or panic.
Marcus did not move his hand. Instead, he chuckled under his breath, a dismissive, patronizing sound. "Look, old man, I’m saving us both some trouble. This isn't a shelter, and it certainly isn't a public park. The places you’re looking for are five blocks down that way. People like you don't simply enter a place like this."
The phrase—people like you—hung heavily in the cool air between them. It was a phrase loaded with assumptions, a judgment pronounced based entirely on a worn coat and scuffed leather boots.
The older man did not raise his voice. He did not gesture wildly or demand to see a manager. Instead, he looked at Marcus with a mixture of sadness and quiet composure.
"Young man," the visitor offered softly, his tone resembling that of a patient teacher rather than an offended patron, "you should be very careful about judging people before you know anything about them. A person’s worth, and their right to be treated with decency, is not written upon their clothing."
Marcus sneered, entirely unimpressed by the gentle admonition. "I know my job, old man. And my job is to keep this entrance clear for real guests. Now turn around before I have to escort you off the property myself."