Jack
Lorne looks like the hulk's smaller, un-green brother, a fact that comes in handy when he's trying to get served at the bar. It's packed in here tonight, but he's only been gone a couple of minutes before he's already shouldering his way back across the pub bearing a couple of pints, a bag of crisps hanging from his teeth.
'You bought dinner,' I say, swiping them when he reaches me.
'Closest thing you'll get to a date tonight,' he grins. 'Although the woman at the table behind you is making a bad job of pretending not to check you out.'
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2017: 1 August
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