It

  was Friday evening. Time to comb his beard and clean his Converse

  shoes. He’d been waiting all week for this night. The usual beer

  outing to celebrate the end of yet another exhausting week.

  He

  went into the bathroom and eyed the dryer skeptically. Yeah... His

  favorite T-shirt wasn’t dry. He’d have to settle for a

  shirt.

  Outside, the soft March rain was tapping a steady rhythm

  on the moisture-heavy roof. He probably should take his umbrella. But

  where had he put it? Then he remembered—he had thrown it out two

  days ago. He had meant to buy a new one… but hadn’t.

  -

  Whatever, I’ll

  just put my hood up, he thought, looking at himself

  in the hallway mirror. The red plaid shirt matched his long beard,

  giving him a lumberjack look. He checked his pockets—keys, phone,

  wallet… all there. He checked his phone to see if the guys had

  texted in the meantime. Nope… the last message he saw just

  confirmed the meeting place.

  Before heading out, he sprayed on

  some deodorant and ran his hand through his hair, satisfied. He

  slammed the door behind him, waking all the neighbors. That damn old

  door would only close properly if you slammed it. The neighbors and

  the building manager had already complained, but it wasn’t his

  door—he was just renting. Why should he pay for someone else’s

  damage? If they didn’t like it, they could buy a new one

  themselves.

  He stepped out of the building, pulled his hood up,

  and ran to the car waiting out front. At least this time he got

  lucky. Other times, he’d have to wait forever for a ride from the

  app. The evening promised a good start, though the monotonous rain

  was drowning the city in melancholy. He stared through the foggy

  window at the empty, dimly lit streets.

  -

  You going to the

  protest? the driver asked without turning around.

  -

  No, just heading

  downtown to meet some friends, he replied

  listlessly.

  - I’ll

  do a couple more rides, then I think I’ll go too. Can’t go on

  like this!

  Then the driver casually launched

  into his political opinions and the state of the country. A trending

  song played in the background, but he wasn’t really listening—it

  all blended into the sound of the rain.

  After what felt like an

  endless string of red lights, he arrived in front of the pub and got

  out without even glancing at the driver. A half-hearted

  was enough.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Inside the pub, he immediately spotted the guys.

  They had arrived earlier and already ordered a beer each. They were

  at their favorite table in the back of the room. He pulled down his

  hood and headed toward them, greeting a few acquaintances along the

  way. The atmosphere seemed pretty chill.

  He was on his second

  beer, trying to catch the waitress’s attention for a third. At the

  table, one of the guys had started telling another dirty, worn-out

  joke. That’s when he noticed him.

  The man was leaning against

  the bar, alone, seemingly trying to take in everyone around him. He

  was well-dressed—too well-dressed. He stood out with his duck-egg

  blue blazer and neatly creased trousers. A carefully groomed

  handlebar mustache sat proudly above a jovial smile.

  He got up

  from the table and told his friends he was going to get a beer from

  the bar. Then he walked straight toward the strange man. He signaled

  the bartender for a pint, then turned to the man.

  -

  You don’t look

  like you’re from around here.

  -

  You’re wrong. I’m

  from here, just maybe not from now.

  The

  cryptic answer threw him off for a moment. But he took it as a joke

  and soon struck up a conversation with the stranger. Indeed, the man

  didn’t seem like he belonged to the present. He knew an incredible

  amount about the cosmopolitan society that once lived in the city a

  hundred years ago. In fact, he described it in such detail that it

  felt like he had lived through it.

  He was a well-read man,

  gliding effortlessly through topics ranging from politics to

  literature, theater, and philosophy, with a captivating way of

  speaking. Time passed unnoticed.

  Closing time came, and the

  waitress brought them their last order. But the stories with the

  stranger felt like they were just beginning. He didn’t want the

  night to end.

  Eventually, they got up and headed for the exit.

  He felt like he’d had a full evening and was thrilled by the

  discovery of his new friend. The cold, damp night air that hit him as

  he opened the door was his last memory.

  A sharp kick to the

  ribs jolted him awake, knocking the wind out of him. He turned over

  onto his stomach and his left hand landed in fresh dung. Dazed, he

  got on his knees and wiped his hand on the plaid shirt. That’s when

  he heard the voice of the handlebar-mustached man, watching him while

  leaning on a spear.

  - Hurry

  up! The Turks are attacking, and we’ll all be impaled!