<div class="floatleft">(https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BMjAxODcyNzU2MV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwNzA0ODMxOQ@@._V1_.jpg)</div><br/>“Man, what a week,” Martin Bartlett said to nobody in particular as he slipped his Apple watch back around his left wrist. He paused, then laughed just a bit at himself as recalled a<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">funny meme</div><div class="spoiler_body">(https://i.redd.it/to3v225w8nlz.jpg)</div></div>that aligned just a little too perfectly with his feelings, as it indeed was only mid-week. It was his second year on assignment at the small, but prestigious university in Greece, an assignment he enjoyed, now that he’d found a bit of footing. However, he was already feeling the strain of the semester, especially with regards to one of the Art History classes.<br/><br/>The first year was not without bumps-even as a Brit who’d traveled through Europe relatively extensively, the culture change from his home school in England, where he’d taught for almost a decade, was more abrupt than he’d expected. It took him roughly the whole of the first semester to truly get his legs under him, as the school had a distinctly international flavor, one which pushed together a host of cultures from not only Europe, but across the globe.<br/><br/>It was for that reason-that confluence of cultures, that he found a struggle with some students in this year’s sections. More specifically, the Americans. Most of the European students, they came from families that had traveled throughout the continent, and Athens wasn’t so<em>foreign</em>to them. The students from Asia were just grateful to be in a more permissive, open culture, but kept their heads down and focused on the work.<br/><br/>The Americans though? Far too many reated their study abroad programs like an extended spring break. To Martin, it seemed such a waste. Many of the students were bright, but chose to hide that under a veneer of superficial, foolish behaviour.<br/><br/>He was still musing on his frustrations, a few of the Americans in particular as he descended the stairs from his second-floor flat and made the short walk to the Metro. Clad in a black button down shirt and matching light grey blazer and slacks, he was relieved to be getting out of his apartment, and more importantly, his own head.<br/><br/>Once on the train, he was starting to push away those annoyances as he took the short ride into downtown where Dybbuk was located on a bustling city block. He enjoyed the club, firstly because it was the kind of place he could go alone and mostly blend into the crowd. Secondly, he had to admit that the rumoured debauchery, while overstated in many cases, appealed to his artistic side-the side that liked to push boundaries, to explore unfamiliar things.<br/><br/>Martin arrived early enough to have only a short line to navigate, and was pleased to find a single empty seat at one corner of the bar. He preferred it that way, as the far side gave him a vantage point to see much of the comings and goings, as well as the main dance area, which was overlooked by the small platform where DJs spinning house music would set up shop. The house music he could take or leave, but the throngs of people and energy in the space was what he liked.<br/><br/>He settled on the stool, ordered a tequlia and tonic, and let his arms rest on the bar top. The crowd was beginning to form on the floor and the pace of arrivals quickened, with Martin fully unaware that he had at least one pair of eyes that had made him already.