Cass froze as she stared across the bar.

That’s him isn’t it. No need to even ask the question – that’s him. Light a cigarette and think about it but the answer won’t change. He’s been here a while. Maybe you didn’t recognise him at first, so maybe he decided to do the same. Is doing the same. Will do the same from now on. Besides, he’s with friends. You don’t know them and never will.

This was where you first met him. Kane. Drunk in a bar, surrounded by those too set in their ways or simply too downright poor to visit the Boulevard. Here to drink their dreams out and away. It served the same purpose. As for you, you couldn’t go back there, not since the Seperation. There was no catching your dreams.

It certainly wasn’t cheap. There were still those who only ever experienced glimpses, perhaps a few minutes on a hired port, subsidised, wandering around the Grid, heads in the air, dazzled by the few freaks who still bothered to hang around general stations. Cheap show offs, too scared to wander outside the safety net of the Grid where they would be such easy pickings. They were a joke.

No, better to hang out somewhere like this. Surround yourself with others, all fooling yourselves that you’re not missing out on anything.

He was just another one, at the time. You talked about bullshit, fed each other the lines about work, life, dreams. He was a musician. Neither of you took it too seriously. Then later, the next morning, you were glad to be rid of him. He was more evidence of your fall, stains that needed washing off. You forgot him.

Then again, not much later. It was convenient. Just as good, just as forgettable. Then again.

He became something of a habit. Almost something more, but it had ended in the fumbled, confused way these things always seemed to end. She still wasn’t sure why.

So what’s the problem now? Now, when you see him here again, looking good, looking really good – maybe that’s just the drink, ‘cause really, he’s always been just what he’s been. A distraction. An interlude. Is it just that you haven’t figured out what the next act is yet?

The sex was good though. Primal, like you both needed to step sideways out of the drag of life. You both said what you wanted and got it, which is how it should be. But then once it happens that way you’re both left wondering. If him, why not that next guy as well? Why not the one after? It’s only later – too late – that you realise how rare those moments are.

Maybe he just hasn’t seen you yet. You look different, more together. More confident, more refined. Fuck, you just look older.

Cass took a long drink and stared at the mark the glass left on the treated wood of the bar.

It’s not fair to feel rejection when you’re still alone. This feeling should be left to others, the ones for whom it’s supposed to mean something, the ones who have something to lose. This program is no longer meant to be running in my system.

Moments like these are character forming, that’s what they used to say. The saying was out of date, characters were now formed in other ways, other worlds and possibilities.

On the way home it started raining, and for a moment it was perfect, just like the Boulevard. But then a stray cat wandered up close to her leg, something that would never happen so innocently out there.

She bent down to stroke it but it scampered away.