text: It was near ten, and morning sun was streaming in through the big windows open to the courtyard outside. Birds hopped and skittered on the tile floor, only to be half-heartily chased out by the staff with a broom. It promised to be a glorious day, and he didn’t want to be here. The light hurt his eyes, his mouth tasted like death, and he needed at least another 4 hours of sleep. Yet he’d stupidly been duped into prepaying for breakfast, so here he was. Bleary-eyed and still half-asleep, but here none the less. Half leaning against the door frame, he heavily stumbled towards the buffet, wincing at the mid-morning sunshine assaulting his eyes. It looked like there was only some pretty slim pickings left from the morning’s rush. He picked out himself a couple of oily sausages, some very dry scrambled eggs, and a single, soggy, overcooked tomato. Together with a bitter cup of black coffee and some fresh toast, it wasn’t exactly the best meal he’d ever had, but he’d certainly had worse. Taking a corner seat, well away from the noisiest of the customers, Vik slowly ate his breakfast and took in his surroundings. He’d only been here a couple of days, but he’d liked his stay thus far. It was central to the city, clean, and most importantly, cheap. It had a bar down in the basement that served something called ‘Panther Milk’. He suspected that the drink was made out of equal parts condensed milk and paint thinner. In the clear light of day he also suspected that he should have refused the vile concoction after the first sip- and he knew that he should have refused the bottles that followed. The night before was a bit of a blur. He couldn’t even remember the names of the guys that he’d spent half the night talking to. Cameron and Tomás? Something like that. As the caffeine and the grease began to hit his system, he began to feel distinctly more human. He cleared away his now empty plate, poured himself another bitter coffee, and retreated to his corner with a handful of brochures. As he looked over the third walk that proclaimed to be a “journey of a lifetime”, he noticed that he was being watched. A young woman with dark hair and almond eyes was idly looking through her phone, but intermittently flicking said eyes in his direction. He smiled to himself, and turned back to the brochures. She had been there last night too, hadn’t she? He’d bought her a drink - or she’d bought him one? By the subsiding pain in his head, it was likely both. He tried to remember what he could about her, but the milk had done a pretty good job of fogging out most of the night. There were still fragments - She was Romanian, an air hostess, and was here because she had a week off. She spoke clipped English with an slight accent, and had gone to great pains to teach him several Romanian profanities. She said that she hated dancing, but still danced with the fury of silk caught in a gust of wind. He smiled at the thought, before shaking the reverie out of his head and turning back to idly thumb through the brochures again. Much like the previous four flyers that he’d looked at, this journey claimed that it “had it all”. Vik tossed the glossy paper aside. The Romanian had packed up her plate and now was fussing about her table, as if unsure about something. Smiling as she walked across the room, he motioned for her to sit, before pushing some of the brochures in her direction. What did she have planned for today? Would she like some company? It promised to be a glorious day, and he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.