He took a step toward the door, a knocking sound had emanated from that direction, and has Mark did so there was a shot of pain that coursed up his left thigh. It was not a pleasant feeling as he grimaced and grunted grabbing a hold of the kitchen counter top. It didn't take too long before he regained his balance and he called out, "be right there!" In his head he thought,<i> this had better be fucking good,</i>as he kicked another beer can out of the way. That one had a little left in and some drops of stale Budweiser dribbled onto the linoleum floor of the kitchen.<br/><br/>The morning shower was supposed to help loosen his joints up, and while it did that to a degree Mark was also in a tremendous amount of pain this morning, his ligaments still tight and many people would tell him it was his own fault. He had failed to complete physical therapy and considering that beer was at least one meal a day if not two he was in a downward spiral that seemed insurmountable to climb out of. He was definitely out of shape, but to say he was fat would have been an oversight, he really wasn't fat, he didn't even have much of a gut considering he drank a lot of beer, of course he didn't have  six pack either. On his way to the door Mark snagged a brown hoodie and slipped it on, there was a pizza sauce stain on the Cleveland Brown's logo, but he didn't really care too much. The crisp cool air of a Seattle morning was not something he wanted to feel in just a plain white t-shirt.<br/><br/>With a few more grunts and groans, out of the fact that he was struggling mightily, Mark reached the door and opened it up where the daylight rudely greeted him, thankfully the sun was on the opposite side of the boat. His eyes drank in the sight of the woman standing before him, she was easy going on the eyes there was no doubt about that, but he was very curious as to why she was there and rather suspicious. Many people probably would have smiled and greeted her warmly, she seemed to have that sort of appearance, but Mark was not exactly someone who did things normally. He had not yet had a beer this morning, and he wasn't even sure it was eight in the morning.<br/><br/>In a gruff voice he spoke, "is this a joke? Some form of a prank? See if the drunk will answer the door? Come to see the hero at his worst?" Then he scratched the scruff on his chin, "I need a fucking beer," and without closing the door he snagged the wooden cane by the door and turned around to go to the refrigerator he had just left. The walk with his cane was a little smoother, but the limp to his left leg should have been noticeable, he noticed it at the very least and he eventually got there. Had the woman wanted to enter she very well could have, he was not exactly in the position to stop her, but if she didn't then he would eventually come back to the door after chugging half of a new can of Budweiser.