I met #132 at Whistle Binkie’s. #96 was in town and staying at my place and we went for drinks, along with the Spanish girl I did language exchange with. It was her idea to go to Whistle Binkie’s, because somebody’s band was playing, I mean somebody she knew. I only remember to go there once or twice a year, usually when it’s after 1am and it’s a weeknight so I can get in free. It’s always got travellers in it, and I guess live music every night is a draw. #132 was on holiday. He was based in London, and made special effects for films. We wound up in conversation together and then I basically just talked to him for the rest of the night. My companions left way before I did; he and I stayed until closing time and then I kissed him. I figured, afterwards, that we must’ve gotten on pretty well, but I couldn’t remember what we’d talked about.
The next day I sent apologetic texts to my friends for basically ditching them. #132 called me and invited me to lunch, but I told him I was on my way to the airport, which was true: I was going to Dublin for more mayhem with #128 and #129. Walking down the Royal Mile, I thought I saw #132, but I wasn’t completely sure if it was him, and I turned abruptly and took a shortcut down some steps, cursing my identifiable tattoos and hoping he hadn’t seen me, because it would just be easier that way.
A few weeks later he was back in town and sent me a text and I said I’d meet up with him. And then the usual panic hit me and I decided, as usual, that I couldn’t go through with a date-like scenario, and I made up an excuse instead.