The driver's glances of scrutiny and curiosity were quite obvious. Eric Clark smiled faintly behind his mask. “How old do I look to you?”

“Junior or senior in college, maybe?” The driver looked him over again. “Hard to tell.”

Eric Clark made a sound of acknowledgment. As they were almost at the destination, he put away his phone and nodded. “If you say so, then so be it.”

Eric Clark was very familiar with this place called “Su Chi.” He first came here in his early twenties, and now, at thirty, it had been almost ten years. But it had been a while since his last visit, so much so that when he walked through the long corridor and found the interior had been completely renovated, he felt a bit dazed, wondering if he’d entered the wrong door.

“Oh my, who’s this?” Not far from the entrance, someone was leaning against a pillar looking at their phone. When they looked up and saw him, they hurried over, staring at Eric Clark’s exposed eyes for a long moment, then tapped Eric Clark with their phone. “Am I seeing things?”

“If you say you are, then you are,” Eric Clark brushed his hand away, shoved his own hands into his pockets, and asked, “Renovated again?”

“Had to. This business is all about chasing trends. If the decor’s outdated, you can’t compete.”

The speaker was the owner here, surname Su, but everyone called him Henry Scott. Of course, that wasn’t his real name. Once, after drinking too much, he said his real name was too plain, hard to say out loud, and that Henry Scott sounded much better. Back then, he was only in his thirties, still handsome and charming, and didn’t mind giving himself such a name. But after forty, the name started to sound a bit shabby and didn’t match his style anymore, so Eric Clark and the others just called him Old Scott.

He glanced behind Eric Clark and asked, “You came alone? Or is Little Ethan parking outside?”

Eric Clark took off his mask and twirled it around his finger, smiled, and said, “We broke up a while ago.”

Old Scott raised his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. “Just messing around, or is it for real?”

Eric Clark looked up and said, “It’s been over a year. What do you think?”

Old Scott opened his mouth but couldn’t find the words. For someone usually so quick-witted, he was at a loss, and finally just smiled. “So that’s why you haven’t been around for over a year. Afraid the place would bring back memories, huh? Forget it, man. Breaking up and getting back together is all fate. If it’s over, it’s over. Don’t dwell on it.”

Eric Clark nodded. “I really don’t.”

“Good, then have fun. Come by whenever you want to have a good time. Being single is the best, right?” Old Scott had other things to do, so after chatting with Eric Clark for a bit, he left.

Eric Clark found a small round table for two not far from the bar. On stage, the singer was howling out a century-old rock song. It really had been too long since he’d last come; the music was so loud it felt like his head was about to explode.

A server came over to ask what he wanted to drink. Eric Clark said, “Just beer. Stout.”

“Okay, how many bottles?”

“Two.”

The server continued, “Anything else?”

Eric Clark shook his head. “No, that’s it. There’s a minimum charge for the table, right? Just bring whatever.”

Whatever the server said after that, Eric Clark didn’t catch. The singer was singing so hard it was difficult to hear anyone speak, and Eric Clark couldn’t be bothered to try.

So when the server finally brought over a table full of fruit platters, nuts, and shredded squid, Eric Clark was a bit speechless. “You could’ve just brought me a pricier drink. You’re way too honest.”

The server bent down and said something else, but Eric Clark still didn’t catch it. He waved him away.

In fact, Eric Clark hadn’t really come here to drink at all. He just ordered two stouts for the sake of it, not even sure if he’d drink them. He didn’t know if he was here to say goodbye to the past or just to reminisce, but sitting alone at a table like this made him feel like a complete idiot. Frowning, Eric Clark felt a bit annoyed; all other emotions faded, leaving only a sense of awkwardness.

Later, Eric Clark nibbled on pistachios and pine nuts while finishing both bottles of stout. Then he ordered another dozen, drinking until only two were left.

He was getting pretty drunk, and his mind started replaying little movies from when he and Ethan Harris were still together. Back then, Ethan Harris worked at a design institute, and he was in grad school. The two of them often came here for drinks. Ethan Harris could hold his liquor, but liked to pretend to be drunk, using the excuse to say things he wanted to say, and if he went too far, he could always blame the alcohol.

Eric Clark shook his head. This was his first time coming here since breaking up with Ethan Harris. He hadn’t thought much about it before coming—just changed clothes and came over. This would probably be the last time, too. Drinking alone here, no matter how you looked at it, just reeked of pathetic sentimentality. It was just too sad.

--“No tables left, huh?”

Just as the music paused, a voice came from nearby—a bit hoarse, a very deep male voice.

The server asked, “How many in your party?”

The man said, “Just me.”

The server looked around, a bit apologetic. “Looks like all the small tables are taken. Why don’t you just have a seat for now?”

Eric Clark’s gaze landed on the man’s hand. He squinted—long fingers, pretty big hands. He looked up, but the lighting was too dim for Eric Clark to make out his face.

Eric Clark was truly drunk, his mind muddled and unclear.