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heavy London snow. His face was set with purpose, and his breath formed billowing clouds that dissipated in the darkness. He glanced up at a street lamp and noticed the flakes swirling around it like white moths. The Victoria Embankment, which runs along the north side of the Thames, was crowded that night. The snow was the first of the season, and there was
about a text he had received, two days ago, from a friend who had been out of touch for almost three years. It had simply read: Our old spot when you get off on Friday night. Ian. No further explanation was necessary. Ian and Rupert had worked together in the early nineties. Ian was an intense workaholic American and Rupert an extroverted free spirit who brought out the fun
no response. Whatever Ian was going to say, it would not be said until Friday. The sidewalk angled uphill and turned to the left, indicating he was almost there. Rupert lowered his head and quickened his pace. *** The Shakespeare was one of London’s most beautiful
