Jim walked quickly. It was a brisk night. He was chilly. Eight miles is not a short walk.
Jim heard a shout. He looked around. There was an old man hobbling after a young man. The young man had a satchel, and looked menacing.
"That young man stole my satchel!" Cried the old man.
Jim was directly in the path of the young man. The young man looked dangerous. He was running very fast, and he was running at Jim.
Jim felt threatened.
Then, Jim felt nothing. Jim was a bench. Benches do not feel in a traditional sense.