The lights are coming on in Soho, London. The bar is quiet, populated by a few early cocktail-drinkers and a handful of staff chopping up lime wedges behind the bar.
He is sitting in the corner. Denim jacket, chinos, trainers, nervous fingertips gripping a cold pint of lager. He is, as he had promised, six feet tall, medium-built, with dark hair.
I don’t know his name, and he doesn’t know mine. We sit together on the sofa while he tells me about his job for an unidentified company and his schooldays in an unspecified town. We discuss film, music, the fact that he is engaged to be married. ”I’m sure she is the one,” he says earnestly of his faceless fiancÃ