Otto Octavius was nervous, his hands rapidly tapping away on his thigh. His other hand held a small bouquet of flowers, one that he bought last second just across the street from a vendor. He was nervous.

This was the first date he has ever gone to ever since his wife, Rosie, died 5 years ago. Now, here he was, waiting underneath the streetlight outside of a fancy restaurant his coworkers have reserved a table for him and his date.

He hoped he looked alright for this mystery person.