I caught him smiling, before actually recognizing it as being him. He was standing outside the bar we agreed to meet at, having a smoke, next to his friend.

They are greek and last much longer; do you want one, he asked, offering me a cigarette. I don’t smoke often, but the night was good, so I grabbed one anyway.

He was in London for a conference, when we first met, and shared some cocktails. Or, rather, he was supposed to be there for a conference, which was cancelled, but he already had the tickets, so he went anyway.

We’re going to a party, his friend said. A man dressed in a kilt and featheres fedora had apparently given them suggestions on places to go at the previous bar they went to.

What could go wrong.