<strong>Tuesday 13th August 10:55<br/><br/>Near the Quayside<br/><br/>Jessica</strong><br/><br/>"I'm trying to explain, Coffee Girl.  Don't get mad with me.  So, OK, are you religious?  This is my coffee, drink it in remembrance of me?"  This is apparently the most hilarious collection of words ever uttered and his giggles last until the entry of the pub.  Standard early morning Wetherspoons crowd - the type for whom cheap beer at eleven AM is more "way of life" than "treat".  A couple of suited businessmen tucking in to a breakfast stand out like a sore thumb, the red eyed and giggling man you're with less so.  It's more depressing than rough and the internal music system apparently agrees and has selected Coldplay as the perfect accompaniment.<br/><br/>"So imagine God has this list of what's going to happen.  Lottery win for this guy, cancer for that guy...I don't know, fucking...errr....promotion for that one.  Right?  But he's a busy deity is old God and doesn't always pay attention.  Occasionally just goes, like I said, Ah fuck it, and chooses someone at random if he can't tell the difference.  So Jean wanted to confuse him with her, me and Honers.  So that if cancer was on the list for her, there's a chance I'd get it.  Right?<br/><br/>Two pints of Fosters please, pet.<br/><br/>So she persuaded me to go along with this through the medium of..." his hands trace out either a guitar or an incredibly deformed female torso "So I deed polled my name and we stood together in the Oh and wrote our names out and various shit.  So she's helped my career and she makes..." he shakes his head.  "This is kinda awkward.  Be so much easier if you were a guy.  She makes people appear?  You know, for a night?"<br/><br/>The bargirl stares in confusion at the two pints in her hand for a moment then sighs and tips them away.  Writes a note on a notepad then comes back over to you.<br/><br/>"Hi, what can I get you?"<br/><br/>John rolls his eyes and gives you a tenner.  "Can you make this happen" before continuing.<br/><br/>"So yeah.  Honestly you're almost as up to speed as I am.  Noone remembers me" he gestures at the bargirl "and noone remembers Honer's.  And that includes Jean, I've rung her loads.  So the building is gone, but I'm not and I'm not sure why.  And as best I can tell people still remember Jean, but noone remembers either of us except you, which is why I'm following you round a bit.  And, honestly, I'm not sure what to do."  He looks, by the end of the speech, thoroughly and almost pathetically miserable.