June 7, 2017:

Gin and tonic.

He rolled out of bed, or off the floor if we're being literal, out the door into Knightsbridge with me in tow, having declined the G&Ts he offered for breakfast. We walked though Chelsea pub-hopping, drinking bitter, eating cheese & tomato. He knew the city, his mother lived there, it was her floor we slept on. I followed him gawking.

Of that trip I remember the Elgin Marbles as they were still called, six feet from Phidias' masterpiece at eye level. The Tube, the Rainbow, trying and failing to see The Jam, staying an extra day to see The Ramones, arriving late in Paris on my own searching for my friends and colleagues, calling out the name of our college from the sidewalk until someone heard.

Years later I stayed sadly on my own in Bloomsbury, missing the friend I now no longer acknowledge.

Thinking of one more try. A week for fun, maybe. On my own with camera. Or with the beautiful woman I adore ambiguously, if she'll go.