Sipping on my drink, I work my way in and out of the crowd, but see no sign of Nero.
This is his party. You’d think he’d be easy to find. Or at the very least there’d be one congregation larger than the others, with him at the center. But there’s nothing like that. So I scope out a random path, moving slowly, aiming for casual as I turn my head left and right looking for the birthday boy.
My body sways on my next step, as I teeter on my heels; I look down, alarmed, to find that my drink is mostly gone.
Remembering that the only thing I’ve eaten today was a cup of ramen, I vow to intercept one of the waiters I’ve seen walking around with trays of finger food soon and stuff my face. If the food is even half as good as this drink, it’ll be the best thing I’ve ever had.
And it’s then, as m
