[ WP ] Write a story in which the main character is the only person in the world who does n't constantly speak in terrible cliches .

( On phone and first wp, sorry for typos ) 
 
 `` Why the long face?'' The bartender leaned over the dark mahogany bar, wiping a glass with a rag that looked dirtier than the mug. 
 
 Mark groaned loudly. Be did n't know what he expected coming into the dingy bar, but this was exactly what he did n't want. 
 
 `` Look.'' He snapped, `` I'm not into the whole'telling the bartender my problems thing' so just give me the damn bill'' 
 
 The barkeep shrugged as if it happened all the time, `` another day, another dollar'' he murmured as he printed the tab for Mark. 
 
 Mark threw some bills on the counter, `` keep the change.'' He grimaced at his own unintended cliché. Was this how it started? A few slip ups and suddenly all your phrases were repeated statements? He shook his head as he stepped out of the bar. He could n't think like that. 
 
 The cool air kissed his face. Mark closed his eyes and hesitated. It was early still and he should really go back to the office, but he really could n't be bothered. 
 
 Just that morning Debbie had come into his cubicle talking about `` case of the Mondays'' and Peter had pointed out his error on the Friday report telling him that `` even a broken clock was right twice a day.'' 
 
 He had snapped at that moment. Mark had grabbed Peter by the collar and shouted. 
 
 `` NO IT'S NOT. If a broken clock still moved - if it was broken just by being slow, it would ALWAYS be wrong.'' 
 
 He shoved Peter I to his desk, sending the wrong reports flying from his coworker's hands, and stormed out to the nearest pub. 
 
 He was at wits' end with everyone and the clichés. No. He shook his head, he had done it again. 
 
 `` Stop it.'' He scolded himself, throwing his hands against his head as if to stop the intrusive thought. 
 
 An elderly lady walking by gave him a sidelong glance, `` Turn that frown upside down, son. It's not the size of the dog in the fight. It's the size of the fight in the dog.'' 
 
 He stared. His eyes bulged. A thousand responses came to mind, but all of them were some sort of saying. Mark could n't. 
 
 Sticking to his guns he started spouting anything that was n't a cliche. 
 
 `` Carrot. Football. Algebra'' he sputtered. The first random words that came to his mind. 
 
 The elderly lady smiled sadly, shaking her head. `` You're beating a dead horse.'' 
 
 Mark fell to his knees. What did that mean? Was he a marked man? Destined to become one of them? 
 
 `` Aagh!'' He screamed. Now he was making puns. 
 
 The old lady patted him on the back gently as if she knew. `` If you ca n't beat them, join them.'' 
 

