Peter Alva smiled as a rather handsome young man handed him a class of sparkling mead. He didn’t usually drink, least of all alone, but he was celebrating a rather special occasion. He’d even bothered to wear something nice. He looked handsome in his rich, dark purple herringbone suit and cloak ensemble. Truthfully though, he wasn’t used to those anymore after spending the last five years mostly preoccupied with his research. Loose slacks and lightweight t-shirts were more suited to traversing the desert than fancy suits and heavy jewellery.
He got up from his table and stepped towards the wrought iron railing of the rooftop terrace to look out over the city. It held so many memories for him, both good and bad. His gaze wandered over St Paul’s then to the London Eye in the far distance. The London of today was so different than the London of his memory. Even London ten years ago had felt quite different. Peter Alva wasn’t new to the sensation of feeling like a man out of time, and today was no exception. All he could think about was that little café he’d liked to eat ice cream at some twenty years ago.
A deep sigh escaped his lips. This was supposed to be a happy occasion and already maudlin thoughts were creeping up on him. He ran his fingers through his long, black hair, trying to ease his vague feelings of discomfort. He’d promised himself not to worry. At least, to no worry yet. Tomorrow was soon enough to figure out what would be next. Today, was meant to be a celebration.
“Well, congratulations to me,†he said to the empty space in front of him. What was wrong with his life that after all this time there was nobody to be here with him today?
