You’re scurrying to your night class while the moon shines above, holding a steaming coffee in your left hand and trying to close your bag in the other.

Skilfully dodging people left and right, suddenly there’s someone centre. You bump into him, your coffee narrowly avoiding your shirt and instead splashing all over the contents of your bag.

“Oh, dear. Are you alright?”

The figure asks, seeming disinterested, in a broad English accent, lifting a strand of your hair out of your eyes.