Not even a glance toward the porch. Clarence felt a flicker of something then, low in his stomach. It wasn’t quite anger. Not yet. But it was coming. Over the next few days, Clarence tried speaking to others.
A woman with a racing bike rode right past him mid-sentence. A teenager nodded vaguely as Clarence called out, “Please use the road,” but didn’t even slow down. One man, looking as though he was being inconvenienced, barked, “Get out of the way, old man,” as he zipped by.