The Stranger at the Bar

A common conceit in literature and cinema. Remember the mysterious Sam Elliott figure in 'The Big Lebowski'?

Well, I have acquired such a shadowy, (almost) anonymous mentor myself, down at The Haiku Bar: an almost creepily cool French Cambodian dude, who exudes worldly wisdom through his pores, and has an opinion - usually a pretty sound one - on just about everything... but especially on matters of lurve.

Just recently, he told me that I should definitely make a move on The Artist before she went home, "because uzzerwise zere eez a danger zat she weel become, you know, a friend". I could see exactly what he was getting at, but I was inclined to disregard him on this occasion. I thought he was just being a stereotypically randy French git. I really couldn't see any point in initiating an affair with a woman who was probably about to disappear out of my life forever in just a few days' time. I was absolutely determined that this was the right course of action for me, for her, for both of us: I was NOT going to make a move.

But then she made a move on me; and I was powerless to resist.

Maybe she'd been talking to The Stranger....