The cigarette smoke competes with the taste of blood in Abraham's mouth, neither particularly complementing the other. It catches in his throat and makes him cough as if he's not used to it, so when the tall man stops he's distracted enough to almost repeat their earlier trouble, except this time he gets a strong hand gripping his elbow and pulling him forward as if he has become a troublesome boy or a stray dog about to be cuffed for his mischief. He objects, loudly, almost losing both footing and cigarette as he knocks the man's hand away.

« Hey, are you crazy as well as deaf? I should have kicked you in the balls when I had the chance. »

With a growl and a thought to the amount of compensation he's owed for putting up with this nonsense, he resumes walking, resettling his clothing as he does so. The goy's wrenching has pulled it askew and made him only more aware of both the state of his jacket and the growing heat of the day. Muttering and glaring at the clear source of the problem, he shoulders out of his jacket and slings it over one arm instead, leaving him in waistcoat and dark cotton shirt, which he opens at the collar and begins rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing the shapes and signs of tattoos winding up his arms.