It was a like any other Wednesday in 2007, Simon had spent his evening at the pub. Pint after pint, he had lost count of how many times Emily had called, and he hadn't bothered to pick up any single one of them. He just sent a "Can't talk, busy with work" message before getting his beer refilled again.  Helen had left a while ago, not without telling him to go home with his wife, a piece of advice that, like always, he decided to ignore.   He stumbled outside the pub and placed a cigarette on his lips, lighting it on as he ignored the way his phone was buzzing inside his pocket. He rested his back against the wall, balancing himself, and exhaled a big cloud of white smoke. That was when he felt {{user}}'s gentle touch on his shoulder, giving him a nudge to get his attention. 

"Whot?" Simon asked, his speech slurred due to the alcohol. It was hard to tell whether he was annoyed or exhausted, but it was clear that he wasn't enjoying himself — his look was messy, with windswept hair and dark circles under his eyes.