Do I know you?

My initial thoughts were of my family sitting at home, happily ignorant; of my decision to swing by the bar for "one more round"; and of my unwavering defense of the Second Amendment. But as the moments passed, I fell into my overly-observant ways. Unlike the stereotype, he was neither menacing nor mean. He bordered on polite and felt strangely familiar. He wore a cheap suit, Costco shirt and a classy red tie clad with small Scotty dogs. His black shoes were worn, but serviceable. He emanated exhaustion. Truth be told, as far as I could see, the only difference between him and I at that moment was that his hand held the gun, and my tongue served as its resting place.