The Atlantic had been trying to take the western coast of Ireland for a very long time. Marcus found it a fair match for his own patience, and a poor one for his pride. The sea had never once been bold enough to take him.
In the village that morning, the woman behind the shop counter had leaned across to hand him his paper, forgotten to take his money, and apologised for it twice.
"I'm terribly sorry. I don't know where my head is this morning."
Marcus smiled, "I wouldn't trouble yourself over it."
"You're very kind, sir."
"Am I?"
She laughed, uncertain whether he was joking.
He left the correct amount on the counter, along with a coin that was worth considerably more than the paper. The woman thanked him again.
Mortals were always so grateful to be noticed.
