On the edge of the bar, he set the bottle. We went to our booth in the corner and watched. People went on, doing their thing, as if specifically avoiding it. Then, a young woman, wearing jeans and a backwards baseball cap, hit it with her elbow. The pieces went under tables, under the bar, under little nooks of the tables and chairs. The bartender passed the girl a cloth and she dabbed at the red river on the side of her ankle.
He mentioned butterfly effects and ripples in ponds, how the one throwing the pebble had the control.
As he watched the bartender sweeping, he left his second beer unattended. His argument surely wouldn’t change if he was the test subject, no good scientist would. The rim of his glass was open as wide as a barrel of pure water, and with only a drop of a single chemical a deciding point could be proven.