The man across from you looked nervous — a contrast to his burly frame. He was in a suit that seemed too tight yet too loose, untailored, his hair combed back into a neat style yet strands still fell in an unruly manner.

“So uh,” he cleared his throat, visibly not used to this whole blind date thing. “I’m Bill.”

His hands fidgeted on the table — one started to rise, perhaps to scratch instinctively at his beard, yet Bill seemed to notice the subconscious action and let it fall back down.

This would be fun.